The Young Master, Narcissistic
by Silvia Grace
Summary: The small stages of London are being terrorised by a serial kidnapper. After the Queen's great nephew is counted among the victims, Ciel and Sebastian are entrusted with his swift return. But what kind of twisted puppeteer will they find behind the curtain?
1. Chapter 1: The Earl, Entrusted

**Dear Readers: Hullo, again! Here it is, my second fanfiction. I am going out of my comfort zone with this one by sharing it before it's finished, very unlike how I treated my first story (which I finished writing in mid July but didn't actually publish until mid October- goddamn.) But, here it is. There is a bit of underlying homoerotic content in this story, but it's not what you think, I can assure you. It's in the historical context and not at all in how the characters behave with each other (well, not most of them but... I don't want to give away too much.) **

**It's not yaoi, or shounen-ai, but because there is a bit of same sex attraction, I thought it would be appropriate to make the reader aware (in the unlikely scenario that there is a person in the Black Butler fandom who is uncomfortable with those genres). But there's nothing explicit, in this story, I promise. Okay. On with it!**

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"My Dear Boy,

My heart is glad that your sickness has finally let up and you are able to return to us. Your influence has been sorely missed, in more ways than one, I am afraid. It appears as though we have another mess on our hands. As I am sure I have mentioned once before in our communications, my niece's nephew, Richard, is a singer for a penny theatre. It will be going on four years now that he since abdicated his duties as a royal to pursue his dream to be a great performer. In those four years, my niece and her husband have on numerous occasions attempted to dissuade him from his chosen profession (though if it may be said, I have always encouraged him in his pursuits, being a lover of theatre myself), but he has remained stubborn as ever. This week past, when again the guardians reached out to their child, they found him to be gone- vanished, having last been seen in his dressing room. It has been relayed to me that all of the theatre's entrances had been locked and there were no apparent signs of break-in or struggle. To add to this oddity, all of the actors and musicians were on the stage at the time. The stage hands are the only ones who are currently suspected, and have been in prison since the disappearance. Richard has not been the only victim, either. Indeed, there have been several other stage actors who have fallen prey to this fiend's invisible hands. As I have said, Ciel, I hate to request your services when you have only just recovered your good health, but... you know how the Yard can be.

Sincerely,

Victoria

P.S. Make sure to rest and eat plenty of broth soup."

"If I eat anymore broth soup, my blood is going to turn into chicken stock," Ciel commented.

Sebastian paused while he poured the tea. "Beg pardon, my Lord?" he asked.

"Nothing." Ciel folded up the letter. "It appears that the Queen's great nephew is the newest victim of the Stage Prowler."

Sebastian nodded. "I saw the headline in this morning's paper. I thought I recognised the name." He handed the teacup off to Ciel. "So, I assume that Her Majesty entreats the Young Master to investigate these disappearances."

"Yes. It seems an odd thing," Ciel said. "Not her orders, but the nature of the crimes. There obviously is a very specific target, but for what reason? The theatre has always been seen as improper and those who perform within it are thought of as even worse. It is a bit like the underground revolting against itself."

"I would agree that the connecting thread strikes me as odd," said Sebastian, "but I believe that in recent years theatre has created a clear divide amongst the public. Not all play houses are created equal and the same goes for the audience."

"That is what is even stranger," said Ciel. "I have along with the letter been given a list of the names of the abducted. They were all members of grimy little penny theatres. None being of any kind of notoriety. I also noticed that they are all male and quite young."

Sebastian lifted an eyebrow. "How young?"

"The oldest is eighteen," Ciel answered. "The youngest is thirteen." He handed the list to the Butler. "One Abrahm Myles from the Ice Block."

Sebastian studied the names. "I see that their positions have also been included."

"Yes, they have. All second string. Understudies, chorus singers, Villager No. 4. You get the picture." Ciel drank his tea. It was a tippy* and incredibly delicate jasmine Silver Needle, crisp and sweetly floral.

"I would venture the guess that not one of these names was up in lights then."

Ciel laughed. "I doubt it if their names were even in the programmes."

"So what are you thinking?" Sebastian asked. "That they went off on their own to seek fame elsewhere?"

"Considering the fact that they disappeared without a word said to anyone, I don't think they left the theatres on their own," Ciel shrugged, "but instead they were approached by a talent scout of a different sort."

"They did appear to be expendable," Sebastian noted.

"Expendable and desperate."

"You do not believe them to be dead then?"

Ciel shook his head. "Probably not. If it's only a particular sort of person missing, it is safe to say that they are being used for that particular skill."

"But of course there is a reason why this new show must remain secret."

"Exactly."

"How then do you plan on locating the kidnapped and, consequently, the perpetrator?" asked the Butler.

"I may as well avoid the lengthy process of speaking with the Yard," Ciel yawned, "and skip right to infiltration."

Sebastian chuckled. "Quite bold of you, sir. And what acting skills do you possess that would cause a theatre to be interested in recruiting you?"

"None," Ciel said, "but I'm going to go out on a limb and say that these boys did not have much to offer either; save their enthusiasm and big dreams."

"Well, if the Young Master can successfully imitate either emotion, perhaps he _is_ worthy of belonging to an acting company."

"I'll need you to gather together a list of all the penny theatres in London," Ciel said while glaring at the Butler. "Find out which of them have the fewest members and of those, which appear the most likely to take on children."

Sebastian bowed. "Yes, my Lord."

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***Small, unopened buds of a tea plant. These are very high quality and reserved for the finest of brews.**

**And so it begins. We're getting right to it with this one, tender lumplings!**


	2. Chapter 2: The Earl, Seeking Fame

**To the Readers: Alright. I know I said a few days ago that I wouldn't be updating this story as often as I did with Bedeviled (and maybe in later chapters I won't), but as of now I have nine completed chapters chilling on my computer and I'm under all of the weather and have nothing else to do. So... chapter two. I would give you an internet hug but I don't want any of you to catch whatever disgusting plague it is that I have.**

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Out of the nearly two hundred penny theatres in London, the Butler narrowed down the results based on his Master's criterion to one shabby little playhouse dead centre in the East End. No civilised patron in their right mind would venture that deep into the ghetto, even if he did consider himself daring. Fortunately, though, neither Ciel nor Sebastian considered themselves to be the definition of civilised, so without batting a lash they walked through the filthy streets on their way to none other than the Ice Block. Formerly known as the Thimble Centre, the name was involuntarily changed due to miscreants vandalising the sign by painting upon it numerous obscenities. After the vulgar words were scrubbed away, the only letters that remained clear were I, C and E. Because of the lack of funds needed to order a new sign, and for fear of future vandalism, the sign was kept in its then current condition.

Ciel and Sebastian stood outside of the theatre, partially obscured by two tenements as they hid between them in an alleyway.

"Are you sure you want to go in there alone?" Sebastian asked.

"I'm sure," Ciel answered. "If they see that I am in the care of an adult, they won't have nearly the amount of sympathy for me than if they thought that I was alone in the world. You wait here. If I need you, I'll call you." Sebastian nodded and Ciel emerged from his hiding place and into the street.

Because of his Oliver Twist-like costume, most walking about the streets paid no mind to him. There was, however, a pair of grizzled, intoxicated gentlemen who made it a point to grab Ciel's attention.

"Well, look at wha' we 'ave 'ere!" jeered the one with blackout teeth and thinning ginger hair. "We've got a li'le ar'ist on our hands!"

"Goin' in to become a grand ol' _star_, 'e is!" His dark-haired friend and apparent drinking buddy said. The two then began making absurd poses like they were before a camera lense, and putting on pretend make-up in an imaginary vanity mirror. The darker of the two even acted out putting lippy on his ginger comrade. Ciel wanted nothing more than to reach for his pistol, but he remembered that he was trying to remain anonymous. He swallowed his bitter pride and did his best to ignore them. As he walked away with his head held high, he heard the vile scoundrels making kissing sounds at his back. He retched inwardly and made a mental note of their faces. He would deal with them at a later time. He hauled open the heavy entrance door of the theatre and let himself inside.

Within the building, it was so dark and quiet that Ciel questioned whether or not the theatre was even in service anymore. The gaslights were then turned up at the foot of the stage, bringing into light a group of twenty actors all seated upon the floor of the stage in a circle. In the middle of them stood a salt and pepper man with a pot belly and full moon spectacles. He was staring without shame at Ciel as were the rest of the company.

"Can I help you, boy?" he asked slowly. He didn't speak slowly out of confusion, he only sounded dull and pompous.

"Er... yes." Ciel stepped forward cautiously. The ceiling was so stout and the seats were so crammed together that he felt almost tall. He supposed that was where the "thimble" comparison came from. Though he felt like "ice" was just as appropriate- it was freezing inside. He cleared his throat and slipped into character. "I'm lookin' for work." He used his best cockney accent; which wasn't very good at all, but at least he tried. He had hoped that it would sound more like a cockney boy trying to be posh rather than the other way around. The actors and the theatre director laughed.

"Yes. You and every other castaway in London," the director said with a drab smile. "Thank you for your consideration of our company, but we are not looking to take on any more talent at present. Goodbye."

"I don't require to be paid!" Ciel said as pathetically as he could. The director stopped laughing and seemed to lend a more open ear. "Please, sir." Ciel spoke as though asking for 'some more.' "I have nowhere else to go. The only other place in the world for me is a workhouse, but I 'ave bigger dreams than that." He smiled boyishly as he thought about how bright his future could be. "For years I 'ave been sneakin' out to the theatre to watch all sorts of shows. Musicals, dramas, comedies, satire. When I see an actor on stage... when I see him or her infect the audience with their passion and spirit... why, I'm full to burstin'!" He stretched his arms out and splayed his fingers. By the dewy eyes of a few actresses and the upturned lips of an actor or two, he could tell he was getting through to some of them. "That feelin' that they gave me was the only thing I've ever 'ad to look forward to. What waited for me at home... if home it could be called... was nothin' but pain. And chaos. I've since run away... and now I come before you all. Please." Ciel lowered himself to his knees and held his hands together under his chin. "I beg you to give me a chance. I understand that I can't be an actor straight away, but I could learn if you let me! All I require is a roof over my head for a few hours and a reason to live."

"Oh, please, Director, can we keep him!" A blonde actress of about fifteen with a kitten face cried out. Her nose was cherry red, her cheeks wet with tears. She wiped them away brashly. "Such a tiny thing. He can't survive on the streets all alone!"

The actor sitting next to her hid his own tears by blinking up at the ceiling. "We can take on one more," he said. "It's not as though there aren't enough roles to go around."

"Plus, the wretch'll work for free!" scoffed an unsympathetic actor.

The director furrowed his bushy brows and looked at Ciel. "Well..."

Ciel widened his eyes as far as they could go and bit his bottom lip.

"Fine," the director eventually sighed. "You can join us. But you'll be on janitorial duty for a while. No going on stage until we see what you're made of."

Ciel jumped in his spot. "Oh, God bless you, sir!" he exclaimed. He rushed up onto the stage to heartily shake the director's hand. "I promise you, sir, you will not be disappointed with me! I'll work real hard, you'll see!"

"Alright, alright," the director said. He adjusted his glasses, as Ciel shook his hand so roughly that they slid halfway down his short nose. He let go of Ciel's hand forcibly and pulled straight his waistcoat. "Be here by nine tomorrow morning. We'll have you situated and explain how things work here."

"Nine it is, sir!" Ciel was about to hop off the stage when the director took hold of his arm.

"I didn't catch your name, boy," he said. He smiled drolly. "My name is Mister Poole."

"... My name is Simon," Ciel decided.

"Well then, Simon," Mister Poole said, "we'll be seeing each other again tomorrow morning."

"That we will!" Simon/Ciel rushed out of the door, waving childishly as he left. Sebastian was waiting for him when he walked back out into the street again.

"Very convincing, my Lord," he said.

"You were listening?"

"I hope that does not displease you," Sebastian said, "but I was only curious as to how you would handle yourself."

"Am I worthy of being called an actor?" Ciel asked.

Sebastian shrugged. "We will have to wait and see. Personally, I think you will be brilliant."

"Oh, 'e's goin' to be brilliant!" The two vagabonds went back to their pestering. They both held near empty bottles and the one with dark hair was buttoning up his trousers, after having presumably pissed behind the theatre.

He then held the bottle in his hand before his face dramatically. "To be or not to be!" he quoted clumsily. "THAT! Iiiiiiis the question? Whether 'tis... blah di blah di blahdy BLAH! No one care's 'bout this shit!" He then chucked the bottle at Ciel's head. It came about an inch shy of his face but as he brought his arms up to shield himself, the Butler's hand came in front of him to catch it. He held it away from Ciel and addressed the two men serenely.

"I would greatly appreciate it, kind sirs," said he, "if you were not to treat my Master with such abuse. I should like an apology." The two "kind sirs" cackled boisterously.

"Master?" said the ginger. "Apology? Ye must be barkin,' mate. I ain't understand a word o' wot you just said, but I sure as hell don't owe no one a bloody apology."

"I will not ask you again," Sebastian said, patiently but firmly.

The failed Prince Hamlet said, "The only thing I owe anyone is this." Again, he undid his trousers and turned around as though he meant to expose his bare bottom, when Sebastian sent the bottle sailing at the man's head. The glass smashed against his skull with a horrific clacking sound accompanied by a violent thud of bottle against bone. Blood flowered on the back of his head, showing beneath his patchy black hair. He fell instantly to the ground after the impact, making a sound like a wounded bear.

The ginger cried out and knelt beside him. His bloodshot eyes popped out of their sockets as he shouted, "He's dead! You killed him!"

"He is not dead," Sebastian rolled his eyes. "But he will be, and you as well, if you continue to harass my Young Master." The ginger man shook his head, deciding between fight or flight. He finally picked up his bleeding friend and drug him away somewhere out of sight. Sebastian turned back to Ciel. "Now then, my Lord," he smiled, "shall we be on our way home? It is nearly tea time."

Earl and Butler then navigated their way back through the grotty streets to civilised society.


	3. Chapter 3: The Earl, Rehearsing

**In the next chapter, things start happening, I swear! But there has to be build up, you know? :P**

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Bright and early the next morning, Ciel walked up to the theatre. He did not see the two old drunkards. He smiled to himself and went indoors.

The gaslights were already on inside the building. The actors stood in a circle around Mister Poole, some looking very excited, others rolling their eyes and laughing under their breath. Mister Poole clapped his hands together and opened his arms.

"Ah, there he is!" he smiled. He was a bit more wakeful than he had appeared the day before, but he still spoke slowly. "Early as well! Are you ready for some exercises?"

"Yes, sir!" Ciel... or Simon brought his hand to his head in a salute.

"Come join us then," said Mister Poole.

Ciel hopped onto the low stage and waved enthusiastically. "Allo, everyone!" he said. The blonde from the day before reflected the same enthusiasm as did the sentimental actor who had cried after his story. Ciel kept a close watch on them. Should he need back up, he would know where to turn. Likewise, he made a note of his enemy- a tall, gangly sort with greasy brown hair and a nose that looked like it had at one point been broken and was never properly mended. His sneer was as slick as his hair.

"Now, Simon," the director began, "you may be wondering why we were all sitting in the dark yesterday." Simon shyly nodded. "That is a part of our warm up," Pooled explained. "We do deep breathing to relax our bodies and minds. So, everyone, if you will." The company sat on the wooden floorboards, Ciel with them. "Charlie! Lights!" shouted the director. The gaslights were shut off and the group sat in absolute silence. "I want you all to imagine your relaxing place," the director said in a strangely soothing tone. "Simon, you will find your place in time. For now, imagine the place where you have been the happiest. Then, I want you to breathe iiin, one... two... three..." The actors inhaled as the director counted. "... And then ooout... three... two... one..." Everyone exhaled.

The second time around, Ciel participated in the exercise in terms of breathing. He did not think of a happy place or whatever ridiculous thought he was supposed to be imagining. They continued on that bend for a few minutes and Ciel had to admit, his muscles did feel less tense.

"I now want you all to stand and then close your eyes," the director said in the same soft tone. Everyone stood quietly. "Lights!" The gaslights were again lit and turned Ciel's eyelids from black to deep orange. "Breathe iiin, one... two... three..." Breath. "Breathe ooout... three... two... one..." Breath. "Now slooowly... open your eyes." Ciel did as instructed and was left feeling oddly refreshed. "And we begin with our stretching."

The warm up process lasted much longer than Ciel had anticipated it would, and the whole thing may have been very relaxing and beneficial if Ciel had truly wanted to become an actor. But, seeing as he was only carrying out an assigned task, the breathing and the stretching the and vocal exercises more annoyed him than anything else. The crooked nose actor took notice of his irritation and felt it incumbent upon him to point it out.

"It looks like our new friend does not appreciate our methods, Director," said he.

At first, Mister Poole appeared angry but collected himself with a lax smile. "I'm sure he is just eager to get to the real acting bit," he said. "He'll learn soon enough that there is a good reason for all of this."

"That I will, Director!" Ciel grinned.

"So," Poole drawled, "let's see what type of chops you've got! Come here." Ciel looked about him nervously but excitedly. "No need to fear. Come." Ciel approached and the director leaned over to look into his face. "I want you to think of something sad," he said. "Take a second." Ciel was slightly embarrassed by how involved that particular excursion had become. "And now I want you to show me sadness." He pulled a face and the director looked disappointed. "Think of something scary. Show me frightened." Ciel drew back and put his hands in front of his face as though recoiling in terror. The director was again displeased. "How about happy? Can you give me joy?" Ciel beamed brightly. Mister Poole chuckled. "Well, it's not good," he admitted to the company, "but his heart is in the right place. You look so happy." He continued smiling. Oh, what they don't know... "So, I think this is how we will handle things, Simon," said Poole. "We have a show that we are opening next week. It's called 'What Happened to the Willamsons?' I suppose you haven't heard of it? It's written by a fairly unknown playwright."

Ciel slowly shook his head. "I'm afraid that the title doesn't sound familiar."

"Well, it's a comedy," Poole said, "and it is a very special type of comedy, Simon, you see, for in it, we encourage each other to use improv. Do you know what that is?"

Simon nodded unsurely. "I think so," he answered. "It's when you make up your lines on the spot, right?"

"Exactly right!" The director was impressed. "What I want you to do then, is not focus so much on what is being said, but rather focus on their _motivations_, yes? Take into consideration how their mood that day influences what they have their character say. Acting is not about lying, contrary to what many might tell you. It's about channeling very real emotion into an assumed persona. Take what they make you feel, as you have explained to us, and transform that energy into art. Can you try that for me?"

"Sure..." Ciel trailed off. Oh, bullocks. He was actually going to have to make an effort if he was to be seen on stage at any point.

"Alright then, actors!" The director addressed the company. "Take your places and we will start from act one, scene five. Simon." He turned to Ciel. "I need for you to sit far enough out in the house so you can get a good, clear view of the stage. Observe the significance of the characters' placement and take note of how their voices carry, alright?"

"Mhmm." Ciel jumped down and ambled dumbly to a centre seat ten rows back. He sighed and rested his elbows on the chair back in front of him. He then said quietly, "This is going to be more tedious than I thought."


	4. Chapter 4: The Earl, Breaking A Leg

**Note to the Readers: If you were wondering to yourself just when exactly the title was going to be explained, it becomes a bit more clear at the end of this chapter. Things are picking up!**

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Ciel had returned to the theatre everyday for five hours for a straight week and a half, right up until opening night. He had witnessed about four run throughs of the full show, learned how the actors applied their greasepaint and donned their costumes. He was taught the basics of wardrobe mending and the tips and tricks of how to change attire in less than twenty seconds. All in all, it was quite interesting and would have been a fabulous learning experience had Ciel not have been born such an impatient person with absolutely zero interest in acting.

The night of the show, everyone was positively skittish. Greasepaint pots, hairbrushes, mirrors and pins fell to the floor and were brushed aside into every corner. The actors rushed about backstage, hastily adorning their costumes and looking like wind-up toys on thin ice.

"Alright everyone, gather 'round!" Poole ordered. Even his calm was disturbed. "Opening night. We've been through this before, yes? We've rehearsed this one hundred times. The only difference now is a few more pairs of eyes." He smiled at each individual actor as he spoke. He then pulled out a bottle of whiskey from behind his back. "So, who wants to get the glasses?"

"I will!" said Mister Sentimental, whose real name was Benjamin.

"What's going on?" asked Ciel.

"It's tradition that before a show," said Benjamin's kitten-faced friend, Emma, "for all of the actors to drink a shot to relax." Benjamin returned with the shot glasses and passed one to each person, including Ciel.

He held it awkwardly. "Thank you, but I don't need this, technically," he said.

"Well, I have a surprise for you," the director said as he poured everyone's drink. Greasy Man, or George, narrowed his eyes. "I've decided to put you in the show."

"What?" Ciel asked. Emma squealed and hugged him close and several other actors patted his back and tossled his hair.

"You won't have any lines, of course," Poole assured, "seeing as you didn't rehearse anything, but you have participated so avidly and have shown the art so much respect that it's only fair to include you, even if it is a tiny part."

"There are no small parts," Ciel quoted dutifully, "only small actors."

The company cheered. "That's the spirit!" said Poole. "Break a leg, everyone!" He held up his shot glass and the actors followed suit.

"Break a leg!" They yelled. Each actor then put the glasses to their mouths and boldly drank down the amber tonic. Ciel hesitated. Downing shots was not an activity that he partook of. But as he noticed that the more unkind actors were beginning to snicker at him, he bravely swallowed the whiskey with all the professionalism of a barfly.

The audience then began filling up the house with their raucous noise and boozy stench. Ciel's stomach churned with sickness and anxiety. And whiskey. "Come with me, then," Mister Poole said. "I'll give you your costume and tell you about your role." He put his arm around Ciel's shoulders and lead him to the dressing rooms.

Ciel was to play footboy to the protagonist, Thomas. All he was required to do was help him and his guests remove their coats and hats and pour their imaginary tea. His only line was to be, "Certainly, sir." And that would have been simple enough, considering Thomas was being played by Benjamin, but the role of Thomas' good friend, who often stopped by his home for a visit, was given to Greasy George. Ciel was already intimidated by the actors' sense of ease and the loud vulgarities emitted from the audience. He did not understand why he had to instantly be paired with one who so obviously resented him. By the time that Ciel was to take the stage, he was seething with anger and shaking with fright. Greasy George saw his opportunity to make the newcomer out to be a fool.

Ciel was upon the stage before George, standing at the ready by the prop door to take the coat of the guest. As the gaslights illuminated his face, there arose from the callous audience whistles and baby talk. Two voices in particular stood out to him.

"There 'e is!"

"Our li'le star!" It was the ginger man and his bandaged flasher friend. Ciel fumed. Now he had no choice but to ignore them. There was the sound of a walking cane tapping at the door.

"That should be Alvin," said Benjamin. "Answer the door for him."

"Certainly, sir," said Ciel. His voice sounded so small and mousey compared to his superior. He blushed fiercely as the audience laughed at his inexperience. Again, the cane knocked, more deliberate than before. 'Is this over yet?' Ciel thought as he opened the door for Alvin.

George, a.k.a. Alvin, burst in so ferociously that the door pinned Ciel against the backdrop, obscuring him from view. The audience burst into laughter.

"Alvin!" Benjamin said. "If you would be so kind as to free my footboy."

"Oh, of course, of course!" George said. He pulled the door back and gave the footboy a toothy smile. Ciel emerged from behind the door. He brushed back his mussed hair and readjusted his eyepatch. The audience cackled even more. "I am so sorry, dear boy!" Alvin said haughtily. "Are you alright?"

"Quite alright," Ciel said. He spoke in a louder more clear voice than he had the first time, but he sounded a bit too heated.

"Oooo!" the audience mumbled with glee.

George raised his eyebrows with mock surprise. "Now, now. No need to be so _catty_," he said. Laughter and applause. George crossed his eyes at Ciel and continued the scene by reciting his written lines.

The scene proceeded as such: George taking his jabs at Ciel as many times as rehearsed dialogue would allow and Ciel not being able to do a thing about it. It was obvious that George was the stronger willed of the two professional actors, though Benjamin did try his best to keep the insults to a minimum by focusing back on the plot. But actually doing what was expected of him was so dull for George. Publicly tormenting the amateur was much more entertaining- both for the audience and himself. He interlocked his fingers, sat back in the chair he had occupied and crossed his legs.

"I say, dear Thomas," George mused, "I am not at all fond of the help that you have recently employed." He looked Ciel up and down. "Just where on Earth did you find such a dim witted boy?"

Ciel was shocked by the audacity of the speech and the audience's delight at it. Benjamin was equally as stunned by the liberty with which George treated his lines. He looked to Ciel pleadingly. He was out of ideas on how to curb George's spite, but leaving him go on for too long without reciting the proper lines was not an option.

George chuckled at the reactions he had received. He turned to ask both the footboy and Ciel, "Just who are you, child?"

"Who I am is none of your goddamn business!" Ciel snapped. George's and Benjamin's jaws dropped open.

"You tell him, boy!" a man with a deep voice hollered. The voice, though obnoxiously loud, sounded a bit more cultured than what Ciel had gotten used to hearing from the audience. He looked out amongst the faces and there, dully lit up by the cast off glow of the foot lights, was the Butler. As he was noticed, he put his pointer finger over his lips in the signature "_shh-_" affectation. The audience around him cheered in agreement. Ciel tried not to let the applause throw him off guard. He had not yet won them over fully.

"I do beg your pardon, _boy_," George said, "but you are in no position to speak to me in such a manner!"

"And I suppose you _are_ in that position because your wallet is fatter than your brain."

The audience roared. Ciel was shamelessly appealing to the lower class's sensibilities by merely repeating what numerous street rats had shouted at him in the past. And he did not care.

George was flustered. He could not find words to argue with, for he, as a working class citizen, most likely did not discourage poking fun at the bourgeoisie, but he could not simply return back to the script after having instigated an argument.

"Well, I..." he faltered.

Ciel laughed coldly. "Well, wot?" he asked, remembering to keep in tact his cockney. "Too full of your own bullshit to form a proper comeback, eh?" George tried to remain intimidating by glaring at Simon, mouth agape, but he still could not think up another insult. "If I may say," Ciel continued, "I find your kind so incompetent that I would be surprised, nay, I would find it to be a _bloody miracle_, if you managed to learn how to wipe your own arse without the assistance of my class. Pour your own damn tea." He threw the fake teapot on the floor. "I'm goin' to the pub." The audience exploded into uncontrollable laughter and deafening applause, jumping to their feet as Ciel stormed out the prop door and out of the limelight.

Once backstage, Ciel was complimented by all the cast for his ability to win over the crowd after having been shat on for more than half the amount of time that he was on stage. Though George was a talented actor, it was apparent that he was not very well liked. Even Mister Poole was impressed by Ciel's grit.

"Are you not angry that I derailed the scene?" Ciel asked.

"Angry? Pfft." Poole shook his head. "No. What did I say was the essence of acting? Putting real emotion into a fake character. That's exactly what you did. You owned the audience out there, boy. Listen to them raving still." Indeed, the laughter continued while the actors attempted to carry out the scene. "They loved you. And besides," he added with a chuckle, "the scene had derailed long before you said anything."

"That was quite exhilaratin,'" Ciel thrilled, surprising himself. It almost felt as though someone else had said those words, for he would never have thought himself to be so attention-hungry.

The rest of the show went off without a hitch and during their final bows, each actor received a hearty applause, especially "Simon." Even the two drunkards who had harassed him were whistling and clapping with the rest. Honestly, Ciel had not cared in the beginning whether or not the performance would turn out well, but he was glad that he had played a part in its success. Afterwards, he shut himself up in an unoccupied dressing room while the other cast members poured celebratory shots.

"Sebastian," he whispered, "come."

The Butler blinked into his sight. He clapped softly, striking the fingers of one gloved hand into the palm of the other. "Good show, sir. You did as well as I thought you would have," he told Ciel.

"Why did you call out like that?" Ciel asked him.

"You looked like you could have used some encouragement," Sebastian answered. "My duty as a servant is to make my Master's work easier."

"Well... thank you," Ciel reluctantly said. He would have gotten through to the audience eventually, but Sebastian did rile them up a bit first.

Sebastian closed his eyes and smiled. "You are very welcome, my Lord," he said. "But how exactly do you plan on finding the Prowler?"

"Now that I have garnered some attention, I thought I could begin by-"

"Simon!" an actor shouted. Ciel stopped short. It was George yelling. He rolled his eyes.

"Damn it," he said. "One moment, Sebastian." The Butler bowed his head and hid behind the door as Ciel opened it to face his visitor. George stood before him holding a foul smelling bag of trash and looking smug.

"I know that you're a big star and everything now," he said with forced courtesy and unmasked disdain, "but remember that the director still has you on janitorial duty. You have to go around and clean out all the rubbish bins and sweep the floor of the house and stage. Better be quick about it, too," he added, "or else you'll be late for supper! And these scavengers never leave food behind." He pat Ciel on the head and walked away, dropping the smelly and, for some best unknown reason, wet trash bag by the door.

"How now, he does not seem very friendly at all," Sebastian observed.

"He isn't," Ciel said.

"Do you need my assistance?" asked Sebastian.

"... No. As much as I hate manual labour, I don't want to risk anyone seeing you help me. Wait for me outside. I will be done in half an hour."

"Yes, my Lord," Sebastian bowed. With that, he was gone as quickly as he had come.

Ciel sighed heavily. "Let's get this over with then," he willed himself. He collected the rubbish into one sack (just what the hell was causing them to smell so awfully?) and dragged it outside to the large receptacle in the alley next to the theatre. He was in the process of figuring how to hygienically remove the putrid liquid left behind on his hands when a voice spoke to him.

"That was a lovely performance you gave this evening," it said kindly. Ciel turned around to see a tall man dressed in a silken, grey pinstripe suit with a matching top hat and a crimson brocade waistcoat over white shirtsleeves. His ascot was creamy gold and his moustache was trimmed neatly just above his lip and slicked down with wax. He stepped more into the light given off by a nearby street lamp as he was mostly hidden in the darkness a moment before. Had he been watching Ciel from the shadows?

"Thank you," Ciel said as he backed away. The stranger made him feel uncomfortable.

"Why have I not seen you upon the stage before?" The man asked. He moved towards Ciel as he spoke.

Ciel backed himself against the door and held the handle. "I'm new to the theatre," he explained. "I've only been here for a week."

"Is that all?" The stranger spoke as though he could not believe it. "A natural talent. That's a rare thing to come across." He had stopped his advancement, but his words snuck closer and he spoke more intimately, as though he meant to flatter. "Surely you must want to be given more prominent roles with which to better display your gift?" he said. "I certainly think you deserve as much."

Ciel was about to reply with a typically modest answer, when suddenly a light was switched on in his brain. There was his man- the Stage Prowler. So that was how he captured his victims. Not guns or threats, not abduction or blackmail, but rather fawning words and sweet promises. Weapons that could be just as deadly as any other if employed correctly with vicious enough intent.

"At the risk of sounding big headed," Ciel assuming the role of Simon said, "I do, sir. I feel I'm addicted to applause now!"

The man laughed quietly. He produced from his breast pocket a golden case and from that a crisp business card. "Well, if you ever grow tired of second rate treatment," he said skillfully, "you may seek me out at that address. I trust you can read numbers?" Ciel took the offered card and nodded. "Smart lad. I am stationed at a repurposed warehouse in the City of London, not fifteen minutes from here. I deal with up and coming stars, such as yourself, and provide an environment in which you can nourish your blooming talents. And of course, give you an outlet to dazzle the public," he added with a furtive grin.

"I will be sure to visit you in the future then, Mister... I'm sorry, but I can't read letters to learn your name." Ciel attempted to behave as ignorantly as possible.

"Mister Green," said the man, which was obviously a pseudonym. He put out his hand and Ciel took it warily. Mister Green did not shake it, but rather held it gingerly as he looked intently at Ciel's face. "I am looking forward to seeing more of you... and what is your name?"

"Simon."

"Simon." The man repeated the name like it were cool aloe spread upon a fresh burn. "I'll be keeping an eye open for you, Simon." He finally released Ciel's hand and walked away. "Oh, and by the way." He turned back briefly. "Keep our little meeting a secret. We wouldn't want the director or the other actors becoming any more jealous of you than, I am sure, they already are."

"I won't tell a soul," Ciel promised.

"Good boy," said Mister Green. "Good night." He tipped his topper to him and walked away, looking ridiculously out of place in his foppish clothing compared to the raggedly clad locals.

Ciel inspected the man's business card. It was swan white with a shining silver border and matching script. "The Exhibition of Narcissus," said the writing. Underneath the title was the address of the event and beside that was a wonderfully illustrated image of a bouquet of daffodils- white petals surrounding golden trumpets. Ciel took notice that there was no name on the card. "Of course not," he said to himself. He put the card into the pocket of his waistcoat and went back into the building, eager to share with the Butler his first lead.


	5. Chapter 5: The Earl, Turned Table

**Note to the Readers: For a bit of historical background, I have copy+pasted from Narcissus' page on Wikipedia, possibly the most _reliable_ source of information the world has ever seen: "The myth had a decided influence on English Victorian homoerotic culture, via André Gide's study of the myth, _Traite du Narcisse_ ('The Treatise of the Narcissus', 1891), and the only novel by Oscar Wilde, _The Picture of Dorian Gray_." Being a Wildean fangirl, I can vouch for that last bit. Wilde references Narcissus in that book every other page, I swear.**

* * *

Back in the manor's lounge area, the Butler poured the tea while the Young Master related to him the story of his run in with Mister Green.

"He then proceeded to give me this card," Ciel finished. He handed it to Sebastian. "Because his name is not written on it, I have to assume that he is not in this alone. There may be a dozen or more 'Mister Greens.'"

Sebastian read the card and smiled slyly. "The Exhibition of Narcissus, hmm?" he said smoothly.

Ciel sipped his tea. He normally opted for herbal during late hours, and that evening he enjoyed a steaming cup of rose tulsi tea into which he dipped a shell-shaped petit madeleine. "What is that?" he asked.

"Exhibition or Narcissus?"

"Narcissus," Ciel said. "Is it somehow related to narcissistic?"

"It is, in fact," Sebastian said. "Narcissus is a figure from Greek mythology. He was born of a water nymph and a river god. Because of his divine heritage, he was extremely handsome and much sought after. Everyone fell in love with Narcissus, but the young man was so arrogant and proud that he had no need for lovers or even friends, for that matter. Then one day, as a jilted lover stabbed himself to quit his broken heart, he called upon the goddess Nemesis to cast a curse upon Narcissus that would cause him to feel the pain of all of those whom he had spurned. Nemesis' curse had Narcissus fall in love with his own reflection. One afternoon, as the young man was walking by a stream, he caught sight of his face in the water's surface. He was immediately smitten and knelt to touch the boy's cheek. However, he found that even though the person in the water welcomed and even reciprocated his feelings, Narcissus could not hold him. Whether he bent his lips to the boy or held out his arms, his reflection could not be touched. Melancholy and heavy with grief, he spent the rest of his days gazing longingly at the person that he could never have, eventually dying by the river. It has been described in legends that Narcissus was consumed from the inside out by a dull fire in his aching heart. He withered away by the river bed and in the place where his corpse once laid, there came up a patch of white and gold daffodils."******

"That's a sad story," Ciel said. "It's no wonder that the public has turned his suffering into a peep show. It reminds me a bit of the Pre-Raphaelites' obsession with Ophelia."

Sebastian laughed. "It is along the same lines, yes. Some versions of the legend even claim that Narcissus drowned himself out of sorrow. Much like the fair Ophelia has been the darling of every lady's man, Narcissus has been an adored icon in the homoerotic culture for thousands of years. I am surprised that you have not heard of him."

Ciel choked on his tea. "And just what the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Only that you are very well read and up to date with the trends of the underground," Sebastian smiled.

Ciel glowered. That was the one loophole in the "You shall never lie to me" rule. Sebastian was always truthful about what he chose to say, but there was nothing keeping him from withholding a bit of information. "Anyway," Ciel said. "I believe that I will seek this man out after tomorrow night's show."

"You are going to perform again?"

"I may as well," Ciel said. "It may turn out that the Mister Green I met is a fluke and the true Prowler is still hiding in the audience. It's also worth going back to see if any of the other actors are missing."

It was as good of an excuse as any other, but the Butler did not seem convinced. "If you enjoyed being on stage, sir, you can be honest with me. I will not laugh."

"It's not because I enjoyed it," Ciel lied. "I am not going through all of this song and dance just for a lark. I only mean to be thorough in my undertaking."

Sebastian sighed. "If you say so, my Lord." An interval of silence passed between them before Sebastian again spoke. "Regardless of your intent," he said, remaining firm in his distrust, "I will be in the audience again to support you. I will of course be on the look out for any suspicious characters, but _I_ will be honest with _you_ and say that I also look forward to your performance."

Ciel paused with the brim of his teacup on his lips. "I'm going to bed," he said after a second. He finished the last drop of tea and stood from his chair. "I have a long day tomorrow."

"Very well, sir," Sebastian said.

The following night of the performance, Mister Poole decided that he loved the energy of the previous show so much that he had Ciel and George reenact their argument. The response from the audience was just as positive, if not more so, due to Ciel using more... _colourful_ language and peppering his sarcasm with more insults (his favourite being "you tea guzzling, cake eating, chitter chattering, cigar sucking, poodle petting, Queen's arse licking idler!"). Mister Poole had even purchased a cheap clay teapot that Ciel could smash upon the ground for a more dramatic effect. And the best part of all of that, was that George hated every second of it. His lack of enthusiasm caused his acting skills to look inferior compared to Ciel's.

After the show, some of the cast members invited Ciel to accompany them to the pub. He politely declined, saying that all of the excitement had quite worn him out. He waited until the actors had left and the house was dark before he summoned the Butler.

"Are you honestly saying, my Lord," Sebastian pressed on as he joined Ciel in the alley, "that you did not enjoy any of that?"

"If we may focus back on the task at hand," Ciel said loudly. "I want to investigate their exhibit tonight and wrap this up as soon as possible. So, I command you- take me to the address on this card."

"Yes, my Lord." Sebastian lifted Ciel in his arms and bounded off into the night, as though transforming them both into shadows.

The warehouse did not look very repurposed at all. The windows were boarded up, the stones were crumbling like stale biscuits, and there were no means of identifying the building- not a sign, not a plaque, not a marquee. But, Ciel figured that was the entire point. One would not think to bother with what was inside unless one were aware of its true purpose. Sebastian let Ciel down without allowing him to venture too far.

"Perhaps I should go inside with you," he said. "It is quite obvious that this is our place. I can smell the children inside. Why waste time?"

"Have some patience, will you?" Ciel said. "It's apparent that they do not intend for any ordinary passerby to go inside. I would guess that this is a 'VIP' event only. I was invited. You were not. Like at the theatre, if they see that I am with an adult, they will most likely deny me entry and we need to keep this as quiet as possible. Keep watch and wait for my signal."

"... Alright," Sebastian said. "I will be here."

Ciel began looking around the run down building for an alternate entrance. He did not even bother with the front door. It was padlocked and chained. As he wobbled on his tiptoes in order to look through a crack in a window, he heard a gravely, disembodied voice say, "Password?"

"Oh!" He was startled and shot away from the window, almost losing his balance. He looked all around him but did not see a body nor a face. "Er... I was told to come here by a Mister Green." He pulled out the business card and held it high enough above his head so that the concealed person could see it from wherever he was. "I'm an actor looking for work."

Quite abruptly a ladder fell down to his left. He looked up and saw that it leaned against an open second story window. He still did not see the man who had spoken. Ciel paused for a second and looked back to the Butler. They nodded at each other and Ciel climbed the sturdy rungs.

The building was almost in complete darkness. The only sources of light were the golden yellow orbs from the street lamps, shining through a few gaps of the boards on the windows, and a candelabra being held by a Titan of a man with his back to Ciel. He was walking away as he said, "Follow me." The man spoke dumbly with little emotion, not once turning to see his guest's face. Ciel did as he was told with trepidation. He could not make out much of the man's features, but he could see that his shoulders were so broad that he had to angle them sideways to fit through the door frame. It was best not to ask him any questions and only follow orders. They walked through three long hallways, each with splintering wooden floors, completely faded paintings and moth eaten curtains covering the blocked windows. The air was so thick with dust that Ciel felt it settling in clumps at the bottom of his lungs. He tried his best though not to cough, for some reason fearing that the noise may anger his Leviathan guide. The man finally stopped in front of a door at the end of a hallway and knocked upon it with cracked and bulbous knuckles.

"Give me one moment," a voice called from within.

"You stay here," Ciel's guide mumbled. He held the candles so far from himself that even when he turned, Ciel still could not clearly make out his face. He did, though, have to flatten himself against the wall to give the man enough room to pass. As he moved, he sniffed at the air around Ciel like an animal, making a few strands of Ciel's hair lift up off his head to graze his uneven nostrils. Ciel cringed and closed his eyes. The faint light from the beast's candles grew weaker as he left Ciel waiting to be admitted. So far, so strange.

"Enter~!" the voice behind the door sang. As Ciel pulled himself away from the wall, he felt a layer of thick dust clinging to his clothing. He brushed himself as clean as he could before entering the room.

Though still dirty and drab, the room was much warmer than the other parts of the building he had inhabited. There was a small fire burning in the hearth and three oil lamps illuminating the room- so much so that it almost hurt Ciel's vision, so accustom had he become to the darkness. The soft wood floor was covered with a thin and dingy red carpet that was stained in a few places with deep brown. The furniture consisted of a settee with a tea table by the fire, several bookcases containing countless leather bound novels, two armchairs and a desk. The man behind the desk was, of course, Mister Green. He was writing floridly in a large red leather notebook with a feather quill. His attire was as flamboyant as it had been the previous evening. His suit was the smooth colour of caramel, his waistcoat a gaudy cobalt. He again wore white shirtsleeves, but the collar was rounded and low, the cravat about his neck being ebony and sewn through with pearls of varying sizes. He looked up at Ciel... or Simon, and smiled warmly.

"Ah. Welcome, my boy!" he said gently. "Please, do sit down." He gestured towards the armchair on the opposite side of his desk. Ciel sat on the chair's edge. Mister Green laughed. "Pray, make yourself more comfortable!" he said. "You look like you're preparing to run away, sitting on the edge of your seat like that."

"I'm not goin' anywhere, sir," said Ciel. "It's only that when I lean back in a chair, this happens." He put his back against the plush cushion and his feet lifted off the ground. He kicked them back and forth. "Bein' short is a bit embarassin,' it is," he said sheepishly.

Mister Green made a face as though watch a puppy at play. "How sweet!" he said. He stared a little while longer before shaking his head and clearing his throat. "Do you know," he said as he came out of his reverie, "that I sent a pair of my closest friends to watch you perform tonight?"

Ciel widened his eyes. He was right. There was more than one Prowler. He should of had the Butler stake out the theatre while he investigated the warehouse. "I did not, sir," Ciel said.

"Well, they were delighted with you," Green confided. "They are very excited that I have recruited you to be the newest member of our theatre family."

"So... this is actually the place then?" Ciel questioned. "It seems a bit... I dunno... run down. No offence meant."

Green laughed mechanically. "None taken. It is run down," he said, a bit wistfully, "but that is because I run a very new operation and have only the funds to renovate the actual stage area itself. I figured that it made more sense to make the show presentable first. Though, I do hope to make enough of a profit by the end of the year to polish up the entire building."

"Where is the stage?" Ciel asked. "I guess it doesn't look like a normal theatre considerin' what this place used to be."

Green's mouth turned upwards in the corners, but his expression could not be called a smile. "You'll see it soon enough." A heavy handed knock echoed against the bare walls of the room, making Ciel jump. Green laughed at him and said, "That will be the tea. Come in!"

The door swung open and creaky wheels came closer to Green and Ciel. What pulled up beside Ciel's chair was a tea cart, carrying a pink and gold bone china tea set, with matching cream and sugar dishes and a plate of jam filled shortbread. Ciel looked up at the driver of the cart and saw that it was the gorilla like man from before. He had a clear view of his face then and was instantly reminded of Quasimodo, as the structure of his bones could only be described as half-formed. He was pasty, crusty and bubbly like partially baked bread. His right eye was lazy and coated with cataracts. As he poured the tea, Ciel noticed the black half circles of filth underneath his flakey nails. He looked away to the far wall to avoid staring. Green seemed to be very amused by Ciel's discomfort.

"This is the help. Er... Reggie," Green smirked. "I think you two have met already." The giant grunted and placed a teacup and the sugar bowl on Mister Green's desk. Green then proceeded to put five spoonfuls of sugar into his tea. He caught Ciel staring at the abundance and asked, "Do you take sugar in your tea, Simon? I myself have quite a sweet tooth."

"I've never had sugar before," Ciel said, recalling his assumed poverty status.

"Ah, well, I insist you try some today," Green said. "And a drop of cream as well!" He chuckled.

Ciel did as instructed, noting that Reggie had not yet left. He sipped cautiously. It was acrid. The leaves had been steeped too long, causing them to burn and making the infusion taste bitter. There was also a stale taste to it, like unclean, flat water had been used. But there was also something else off about it. Something that Ciel could not quite make out. It smelled... not salty, but that was the only adjective he could use to describe it. It was alkaline. He said, "It tastes quite a bit different than the brew I'm used to drinking."

"Well, we only use the finest of the fine around here," Green grinned surreptitiously. "Do we not, Reggie?"

Reggie bared his teeth at Ciel in a grimace, displaying craggy and pointy bits of yellowed, decaying bone inset in reddened and bleeding gums. They began to multiply and spin and overlap each other. Wait... how could they be doing that? Ciel's teacup fell from his loosened grip and smashed against the floor, staining the carpet with deep brown. So that was where all of the stains came from... His heart beat pounded slowly and loudly in his ears like a war drum as his peripheral vision gave out. He slumped over the arm of his chair. He had meant to stand up, but he could not for the life of him gather enough strength to do so.

"Are you feeling alright, Simon?" Mister Green sounded as though he were speaking to Ciel from the end of a tunnel. "Perhaps you need to lie down."

Ciel meant to call for Sebastian, but his tongue had swollen and his throat and mouth felt like they had been stuffed full of cotton. The last thing he heard was a loud clatter of metal against metal, which must have been the fallen tea cart that he had tried to use to support himself before collapsing into unconsciousness.

* * *

****True story, bro. Although, like Sebastian said, there have been many versions of the legend. These are the events that appear the most often. However, there is also mention of a girl named Echo. Apparently, this chatty chick was having a bit of an affair with Zeus. So, Hera, Zeus' wife, put a curse on her that would cause her not only to wait until someone had finished speaking, but to repeat the last words that the person had spoken. According to many interpretations of the story, she saw Narcissus admiring himself in the water. For a while, she watched from a nearby cave, being too afraid to speak to him- for obvious reasons. Feeling like he was being spied on, Narcissus turned around and asked, "Who's there?" Of course, all Echo could say was, "Who's there?" She came forward then, but in the same way that he treated everyone else, Narcissus told the crazy girl to sod off. ****So there was nothing she could do but watch the kid die. She, too, eventually passed away, and her spirit still haunts caves the world over. Though this story is not about Echo, there is indirect mention of her later on because it felt odd to me to exclude her completely. Yup. Never a wrong time for a history lesson.**


	6. Chapter 6: The Earl, Prisoner

A musty odour awoke him. His head was bleary and pounding. His limbs were aching and heavy as lead. He had never been so thirsty in his life. As he opened his eyes, he discovered that he had been laid down on a thin cot with a flat pillow and flimsy white sheets. There was a small nightstand by the bed, a glass of ice water standing upon it. He sat up slowly, as his vision was still out of focus, and reached for it. Then he stopped. Oh, no, he wasn't falling for _that_ again.

"No need to worry 'bout it," said a voice. "It's not like the tea."

In his confusion, Ciel had not noticed that the room into which he had been thrown was occupied by another bed holding another body. The voice belonged to a boy his age with curling brown hair and fair olive skin. He had almond shaped eyes of rich brown, almost black, and three freckles at the points of an inverted triangle on his right cheek. His smile was simple and friendly. "My name is Abrahm," he said. "What's yours?"

Abrahm... that sounded familiar... Abrahm Myles? From the Ice Block? The list of the abducted boys' names said that he was also thirteen. Surely he was the same person.

"Ci... Simon," Ciel's tongue fumbled. He almost forgot for a moment. He sat all the way up and took the glass from its place. "Where am I?" he asked after gulping it all down.

Abrahm was confused. "Surely you know," he said. "Everyone comes here on their own."

"Well, yes, _technically_ I know where I am," Ciel was already a bit annoyed, "what I want to know is what was the reason for poisoning me?"

Abrahm shrugged. "To make sure you wouldn't run away," he said. Though his facial expression was nonchalant, there was an undertone of sadness to his speech- to his entire person, really. His complexion, although clear, was lack luster, the area around his deep set eyes puffy, as though he frequently wept.

"Do they do that to everyone?" Ciel asked.

Again, Abrahm lifted his small shoulders and let them drop. "I would guess so. Never met a boy that didn't have that happen to him." Ciel nodded as he tried his damnedest to focus. Abrahm's voice rose and fell in volume rapidly, though he knew that in actuality the boy was not doing that. He felt like he needed to lie down again, as his head was throbbing so, but refused to make himself more vulnerable than he already had. He looked around the room in an attempt to remain awake. It was windowless, the cement floor was completely bare except for a small orange area rug that Abrahm had beside his bed. In fact, the room was plain only on Ciel's side. Abrahm had tacked pictures, flyers, posters, programmes and ticket stubs to the walls closest him. They all grandly announced the openings of vivacious shows, each poster colourful and vibrant despite being dusty and ripped around the edges. Some, Ciel noticed, had even been drawn by hand. He could tell by the slight disproportion in symmetry and the misspelling of a word or two. Other than those errors, they would have fooled the average eye into believing they were professionally printed. Ciel wondered how long the boy had been there if he felt the need to make his prison cell more comfortable, when he found the time to draw so many pictures, phantasise about spectacles that existed only in his own imagination.

"What time is it?" Ciel asked.

Abrahm reached underneath his pillow and pulled out a watch chain. He flipped open the cover of the watch and said, "Eight thirty."

"In the morning?" Ciel asked. He had been there all night and Sebastian had not come to retrieve him?

Abrahm breathed in deeply as he nodded in understanding. "Potent stuff," said he. "I remember it well."

"I take it, then, that I'm not allowed to leave this room?" Ciel asked.

Abrahm shook his head. "Not until we're let out," he said. Then he face brightened somewhat. "But! We'll be going down to breakfast any second. You'll be able to walk it off and get some food in ya."

Ciel sighed shortly. He could have technically called the Butler right then and there, but if he had already come that far, he may as well wait and see if he would be able to find Richard on his own.

"So," Abrahm said awkwardly, "what theatre did you come from?"

Ciel thought about lying, but changed his mind. The more allies he could make in that place, the safer he would be. "The Ice Block. But I was only there for a week."

Abrahm's eyes came alive for the first time since talking to him. "No. Way," he said. His face had almost split in two because his grin was so broad. "I came from there, too!"

Ciel turned on his acting skill in order to reflect Abrahm's happiness convincingly. "Did you really?!" he said. "I can't believe it!"

"Is everyone still there? Emma? Benjamin?" Abrahm's eyes shivered with tears as the names passed his lips. "Mister Poole? Is he still boring?"

Ciel laughed. "They're all still there," he nodded. "Yes, Mister Poole is still boring. George is still a bastard."

Abrahm snorted. "Hate that guy," he said. The actors laughed together like old schoolmates recalling old memories. Abrahm begged Ciel to tell him all about the show they had recently put on. He was very impressed that Ciel's temper tantrum was made a part of the production. He was even more entertained by the fact that George had no other choice but to accept it.

"Serves him right!" Abrahm cried. "I remember the first time I was on stage, he tripped me with his cane so that I fell on my face! I was so nervous afterwards that I kept forgettin' my lines. So embarrassing." He winced at the painful recollection.

There was the clicking sound of a lock being undone on the door. Then there was the sound of a clinking chain followed by the sliding of a bolt. Finally, a key was turned in the lock and the door was pushed slightly ajar. Abrahm hopped off the bed and held out a hand to his apprehensive cell mate.

"It's alright," he assured. "Nothing bad's gonna happen. I promise."

Ciel did not take the offered hand, but followed Abrahm out of the room. He looked down the hall to his right and saw eight boys older than he. To his left he saw four boys closer to his age. They all marched sleepily down the hall, yawning and rubbing their eyes, each boy's clothing being a clear representation of his class. Most were working, but there were a few who were dressed in finer fabrics of richer colours. Though Ciel did not remember what Richard's face looked like, for his likeness was in the breast pocket of the absent Butler, he knew that he was among that new company. The boys were flanked by six men who possessed the same bulky body type of Reggie, though their faces were not deformed. Ciel noted the cement surroundings and quadruple locked doors. There were no apparent routes for escape. Why had so many bodyguards been employed? Preventative measure for a jailbreak? Much like the poison... had the lured boy seen what was truly awaiting him, he would have made a run for it. "You look like you're preparing to run away, sitting on the edge of your seat like that!" Mister Green had said to him.

Ciel walked with the herd through the barren corridor until they came upon a large iron door. A man who held a jingling key ring pushed a black button beside it. The door lifted slowly from the floor, making a sound like a freight train barreling along the tracks, and was sucked into a crevice in the wall above. The boys were ushered underneath it like cattle and again the keeper of the keys pushed the button to close it. The groaning sound of the door reverberated metallically off of the walls of a cafeteria.

Contrary to the penitentiary surroundings, the two banquet tables in the middle of the room were laden with food aplenty. There were plates full of red and green grapes, apples, bananas, even figs and apricots. There were small glass bowls of almonds and walnuts, chafing dishes of fluffy, buttery smelling scrambled eggs and smoked sausage laced with pungent herbs and fennel seed. On each table there was one tall, thin white teapot with a spout almost as long as Ciel's arm, encircled by delicate demitasse teacups.

"Quite the feast despite the dreary atmosphere," Ciel commented.

"We're well fed here," Abrahm said. "That's the up side." There was a small stack of white plates beside the teacups that each boy crowded around. Seeming afraid to approach, as though likening them to a pack of ravenous gophers*****, Abrahm kept his distance and cleared his throat nervously. "Might someone pass some plates to Simon and me?" A boy at the edge of the group picked up two plates and, snickering, slid them roughly down the table towards Abrahm. The plates lost their course, causing one to fly off the table and crash onto the floor and the other to fly up towards Abrahm's face. In a miraculous display of reflexes that he normally did not possess, Ciel caught it before it could cause injury.

"Yes, you could do that," he told the boy, "or you could just pass it to him civilly." The boy rolled his eyes at the condescending suggestion and looked away. "Here you go." Ciel handed the unbroken plate to Abrahm.

"Thank you," Abrahm said shyly. Ciel went to gather his own plate. Though his stomach still ached from the poison, it was also growling from lack of nourishment, and he had not the patience to play school boy games with tableware. He took the lead of a muscular boy just ahead of him and filled his plate to the edges with food, but Abrahm stopped him as he helped himself to a second sausage link.

"Can't do that," he cautioned. "You'll gain weight." Ciel looked towards the Adonis like boy questioningly. "Big ones have to stay big," Abrahm explained, "little ones have to stay little."

"... _Fine_." Ciel put one sausage back moodily. No windows, assigned sleeping quarters where they were to be held under lock and key, numerous bodyguards, complete control of diet, no contact with the outside world. Classic signs of human trafficking. But the purpose of it all still remained a mystery to the little Earl. He and Abrahm sat opposite each other at the far end of the table, away from the others- the boys and the bodyguards. "So," Ciel began casually, "how long have you been here?"

Abrahm poured tea for the two of them. Judging by the amber colour and the smell of citrus, it was Earl Grey. "'Bout four months, I should think," he said.

Ciel cut up the sausage and ate it along with a bit of egg. "Do you like it here?"

"I love acting," Abrahm said robotically.

"Yes, but do you like it _here_? Living here, I mean."

Abrahm's eyes shifted about as though on the lookout for something. "Yep. It's great."

Lies. Sensing that he was stepping into dangerous territory, Ciel changed the subject. "What play are you putting on now?"

Abrahm sipped his tea. "We're telling the story of Narcissus."

"Is it a popular show?"

Abrahm's eyes widened and he nodded slowly. "Very much so."

"What other shows have you done here?"

The boys at the other end of the table began to take notice of the newcomer's questions and elbowed each other anxiously. Their nerves jumped over to the other table as well, and from them to the bodyguards. All eyes turned to Ciel.

Abrahm laughed loudly to cover up the tight silence. "You know, you'll learn all about it later on today," he said. "I'm not very good at explaining things, you see."

"I think my questions are pretty simple," Ciel persisted. The body guards uncrossed their arms and moved slightly towards him.

"Simon!" Abrahm snapped. Ciel dropped his fork at Abrahm's suddenly harsh tone. "Trust me, alright? You'll figure it out later."

"Sure," Ciel said. "I can take a hint."

The company cleaned their plates in relative silence, Ciel choosing not to ask anymore questions. When mealtime concluded, they all left their plates behind and walked over to a piece of paper that had been tacked to the wall. Each boy took turns tracing their fingers down the page before they dispersed.

"Now what's going on?" Ciel asked.

"During the day, we're all assigned chores to complete before the show," Abrahm explained. "You won't have any today, though, because you'll be training."

Ciel drew together his eyebrows and frowned. "Training? We don't rehearse together?"

"No," Abrahm answered. "The show is more like a series of vignettes******." Pause. "Like I said, it will all be explained to you." A particularly burly bodyguard then stomped over to Ciel, took hold of his arm and pulled him roughly away. Abrahm waved. "See you at showtime!" he called. Ciel waved as cheerily as he could, which was not in the least bit cheery. Out of the cafeteria they strode and up a near flight of fractured cement stairs they went.

As he was dragged along, Ciel saw various boys scrubbing the floors and walls, cleaning carpets, sanding and polishing wooden furniture, refilling oil lamps, shining porcelain figurines. All of those things exceptionally out of place within the dank tomb of a building.

'I believe that more than enough revenue is being generated with which renovations could be done,' Ciel thought, 'but Green probably feels that slave labour is much more cost effective.' As he walked past the enslaved actors, he saw them stare at him with mixed feelings of curiosity, empathy and jealousy. What they could possibly be jealous of, Ciel was unsure for he was no more free than they, but he could see their eyes smoulder darkly, a feature that greatly contrasted their pitying frowns.

He was eventually thrown into a large room with wide, tall windows. They, too, were boarded up with wooden planks, but only partially, allowing daylight to shine through. He saw a clear blue sky with hints of silken white clouds. Not a single building was in sight. He must have been on the top floor. A sparrow flew by, singing brightly as it went. In the centre of the room, in which Ciel had been locked after his escort left him alone, there were a dozen different mirrors all ranging in size and ornateness. Some mirrors were giant, at least six feet tall, their frames gilded and carved through with seashells, grapes vines and cherubs. Others were very elegant hand mirrors with black onyx frames. There were also two small chairs accompanied by a short table holding a glass vase full of fake daffodils. Ciel was pinching the paper petals when the door behind him opened. A portly man with chin length grey hair and half moon spectacles entered. He was modestly dressed in monochrome, his ensemble brightened by a vermillion scarf draped around his shoulders. He smiled and Ciel was surprised to see that he appeared pleasant and kind. How were the people trapped in that prison able to look so carefree? He was in the presence of true actors, surely.

"Good morning. My name is Mister Harrison," the man said, which did not seem to Ciel to be a false name. "Might you be Simon?"

"Yes, sir," Ciel bowed. "Pleased to meet you."

"No need to be so formal." Though he smiled, his eyes looked tired and dull. "Those affectations are out of date. Let us shake hands like gentlemen." They did just so. Mister Harrison's gloves were gun metal grey and looked like they had once been silky and at the height of fashion, but they had since become thin and worn. Their shake was gentle but hearty, very unlike the so-called handshake that Ciel had received from Mister Green. "Good to meet you, Simon. Let us sit." They sat opposite on the two chairs set amidst the mirrors. He, too, questioned Ciel about his acting experience and what prompted him to pursue the career. Like the others, he was impressed by the progression he had made on stage in such a short amount of time, and the privilege he had been given to have his tantrum featured in the show. "That's interesting," Harrison said. "We also incorporate a similar idea of giving each actor their own customised role to play."

"I was told that the show is a 'series of vignettes,'" Ciel said. "Does that mean that each scene is written specifically for the individual?"

"Yes, it is!" Mister Harrison exclaimed. "You know the mythos, yes?" Ciel nodded. "Well, over the centuries, the story has given birth to countless different versions. Because the theatre master sees a beauty in them all, he has decided that each one should be told."

"Theatre master?" Ciel asked. "You mean Mister White?"

"Correct." Ciel figured that Mister Harrison would not question the name and accept it as truth.

"So which one of us plays Narcissus?"

"You all do. Each one of you portrays a way in which it is said he died."

"... So we just get up on the stage a depict the same character dying over and over?"

"Essentially? Yes. But there is no stage. Rather, you each occupy your own space, with your own props, even your own lighting!" Mister Harrison attempted to make imprisonment sound appealing.

"And what if I've decided that I made a mistake and I don't want to be here anymore?" Ciel asked.

Mister Harrison's forced smile dropped heavily. He hung his head and said with pained sympathy, "You can't leave. This shall be your new home. But think of it this way." He moved forward and held Ciel's hands snugly. "You've told me that you always wanted to be on stage, correct? This may be your only chance. So, really, you would be doing a disservice to yourself, and to the art, if you did not at least try to make the best of it." Harrison pretended to be addressing Ciel, but Ciel could see that he was really attempting to lift his own depressed spirits.

"I'll try my hardest," Ciel said.

Mister Harrison gave Ciel's hands and reassuring squeeze and smiled. "That's a good boy," he said. He stood from his chair and rubbed his hands together. "Now then!" He rose his voice energetically. "Let me teach you how to be narcissistic!"

* * *

*** [singing] It's my story and I'll reference myself if I want to. [/stops singing]**

**** A _vignette_ is "a short impressionistic scene that focuses on one moment or gives a trenchant impression about a character, idea, setting, or object." Thanks again, Wiki.**


	7. Chapter 7: The Earl, Show Time

**Note to the Readers: This is slightly off topic, but have you all seen the new trailer for the live action Black Butler film a/o read the synopsis? Ugh... I am so disappointed. Just... so disappointed. Sorry, I had to get that out in the open. Anyway. On with the story.**

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Though Ciel spent nearly the entirety of his day with the acting coach, he felt as though he did not learn a thing. All he was taught was how to go from gazing longingly in one mirror to another, and then how to lay by a body of water and sigh pathetically. When he asked if he was to have any lines, he was told that no, he would not.

"The more experienced actors have lines they recite," Mister Harrison had told him. "You are only to do what you practiced here today. You can't improv in this show."

"What did I practice? What did I learn?" Ciel asked, frustrated and bored with his lessons.

"You learnt the fine art of pantomime!" Harrison grinned. "I have seen very few boys take to it so easily. It really is more difficult than you think. I honestly believed that you were drowning!"

Ciel rolled his eyes and folded his arms. Flattery only gets a person so far. "So then how will this all play out if only some actors speak?"

"... You'll see soon enough," Harrison said. He assured Ciel that he would be wonderful as long as he did not worry about it- which immediately made Ciel feel worried. Over and over in his mind he thought about summoning Sebastian and ending the whole thing before it even started, but some sick part of him wanted to see what all of the fuss was about. As soon as the exhibit concluded, he told himself, he would call the Butler and the Yard would swarm the place faster than ants on a fallen piece of pie.

Ciel was given an hour supper break and a cup of tea before he was retrieved by a bodyguard, and handled in the same brusque way into a lift. The mechanism let them down several floors. How many levels, Ciel could not venture a guess, but enough time had lapsed that the bodyguard's unbearably sour body odour had filled the air of the small compartment, causing Ciel to hold his breath for more than half of the trip. Once the lift doors opened, Ciel stumbled out and gasped, close to collapsing. Again, his ruffian escort pulled him along through the underlit tunnels to a room housing a clawfooted bathtub filled with steaming water.

"You bathe here," the man said. He shoved Ciel inside and locked him up again. Though Ciel did not feel comfortable bathing when he had no control over who could walk through the door, he feared the punishment of not doing what he was told. He stripped down tentatively, frequently looking behind him to ensure that the door was still closed, and settled into the tub. The soap he was given to use had the creamy base of goat's milk and smelled of fresh plums. It did provide a bit of relief to the pre-show jitters, but they immediately returned when a fist knocked impatiently on the door, followed by a voice telling him to, "Hurry it up in there!" Ciel felt the need to remain in the bath, as the thought of the bodyguard being just outside made him feel unclean, but he quickly removed himself from the warm water and dried his skin with a soft towel that hung on a rack beside the tub. On the same rack was a blue silk robe. Ciel wore that about his person and pulled it close, attempting to hide as much of his skin as possible. He held his clothing to his chest and left the washroom. The bodyguard did not grab his arm as he had before, but he did urge him down a narrow corridor like a lamb going to slaughter.

Just ahead of him was a glowing light along with buzzing chatter and music. Ciel walked into the illuminated room and was greeted by almost an exact replica of what he had seen backstage at the Ice Block. There were hair pins and fake flowers all over the floor, makeup brushes and pallets strewn everywhere, boys mumbling their lines or warming up their voices by singing along with the gramophone. They sure were making an effort for success, despite being held against their wills. Harrison's words resounded in Ciel's memory, "You'd be doing a disservice to yourself, and to the art, if you did not at least try to make the best of it." It looked as though he gotten through to the others.

Ciel picked his way through the shimmering, shining chaos looking for a free vanity, when he stumbled upon Abrahm. Or, at least, he thought it was Abrahm, for he looked very different. His curls had been shined and tamed with pomade, his yellowish skin tone made paler with powder. His eyebrows had been filled in dramatically, his eyelids smudged with coal black, his lips lightly rouged with bee sting red. There was also the faintest dusting of pink on his cheeks. He was wearing a white bathrobe and posing coquettishly in the mirror when Ciel approached him. He opened his mouth in happy surprise.

"Ah!" He cried. "There you are!" He spoke to Ciel's reflection, not to the actual person standing beside him. "Do you need some help with your makeup? What am I talkin' about? Of course you do! You're new! Here! Sit!" He pulled over an unoccupied chair, set it across from him and bade Ciel sit down. Ciel did as told, pulling his robe closer around him. As he sat Abrahm said, "Now take off your eyepatch." Ciel hesitated. Abrahm sighed with a touch of impatience. "You can keep your eye closed if you feel uncomfortable, but I need to do up your whole face."

Ciel removed his eye patch slowly and said, "Are you going to do my makeup like yours?"

"Well, don't sound so excited! Sorry for being hideous."

"That's not what I meant!" Ciel said. "It's just... a lot of makeup."

"Yes. But that's how we do it around here." Abrahm pushed back Ciel's hair. "But you only wear it for a little while. So, let's see..."

Abrahm began applying the makeup skillfully all over Ciel's face. Though more expensive powders were being used instead of the greasepaint that he had applied to himself in the penny theatre, it did not make his skin feel anymore comfortable. It was brushed on in so many thick layers that the excess powder under his nose made him sneeze.

"Sorry 'bout that," Abrahm apologised, "but I'm done now. You can relax." Ciel refused to look at himself in the mirror after seeing the brushes that Abrahm had used. They were so saturated with colour that they looked like they had been dipped into paint. Out of the small crowd of actors, Mister Green approached holding a hanger, the clothing that hung from it obscured by a white sheet. His costume, Ciel assumed. Or, at least he hoped it was his costume. It was safe to say that he wasn't allowed to wear his street apparel on stage, but he had no other clothing besides.

Mister Green came up behind Abrahm and put a hand on his shoulder. He sighed, in a daze. "He's perfect," he breathed. "Very good work, Abrahm."

"Thank you." Abrahm was visibly repelled by Mister Green's familiarity, but Green did not much seem to notice or care. "But what about his eye?" Abrahm asked.

"That is precisely why I am here," Green smiled. He removed the blanket from the hanger, revealing a very short white toga and a group of fake flowers sewn to a patch of cloth and bound together by a braided white cord. Hanging like a necklace around the hanger's handle was a pair of sandals, which were nothing more than small planks of sanded and polished wood with two long sheep skin laces. "This will be your costume, Simon." Green handed the toga to the dumbstruck actor. "And the bouquet," he pointed to the flowers, an arrangement of daffodils, surprise, surprise, "that little accessory I designed myself to conceal whatever is hiding under there."

"I'm partially blind," Ciel said harshly. "The only thing 'hiding under there' is an eyeball."

Mister Green put his hands up in playful defence. "Forgive me if I offended you," he said. He came closer to Ciel and said, "Allow me to help you put it on." His hands reached out but Ciel pushed them away.

"I've been wearing an eye patch for years." He stood his ground. "I can tie it without your help."

By then, several actors had turned to watch the exchange nervously. Ciel wondered why tensions were so high whenever the unwritten rules were opposed. What was the punishment for the wrongdoer? For a moment, Mister Green's eyes glistened with something other than pretension: Anger. Though Abrahm had his eyes cast downwards, Ciel kept his own squared up with his opponent's. After a few moments of glaring, Green forced himself to concede.

"Alright then, Simon," he said tensely while rolling his shoulders, "you do that. I'll see you again in a bit." Ciel watched him as he walked away through the crowded dressing room and into the shadowy corridor.

Abrahm exhaled and hung his head. "That was intense!" He came back up and looked at Ciel with rounded eyes. "I was holdin' me breath the whole time!"

"Why?" Ciel asked. "What would he have done?"

Abrahm's muscles tensed as he again stopped breathing. "Simon," he said suddenly, "I like you. Please don't push that man's buttons."

"Understood." Ciel held the flower patch up to his eye and said to Abrahm, "Can you help me tie this?"

Abrahm laughed and rolled his eyes. "Sure," he said. He held the patch in place while Ciel knotted either end of the cord together around his head.

After admitting that dressing in front of strangers embarrassed him, Abrahm held the sheet up in front of Ciel while he slipped on his slip of a costume. The thing was so airy and thin that it felt as though he was raveled in two lunar moth wings. It barely came a hand's length below his bum and only just covered the scabbed brand on his back. Though really, it only just covered everything. The strap across his chest left both areolae completely out in the open and his knobby shoulders and belly were in full view. Between the skimpy toga and the thick maquillage and the strappy sandals, Ciel felt like the whore version of Hermes. As Abrahm took the sheet down, Ciel pulled on the hem of his costume, painfully aware of how much his legs were exposed. Abrahm laughed sadly, sympathetically.

"Feels a bit weird, yeah?" was all he could say. Ciel only stared as he couldn't find words enough to describe how humiliated he felt. "Don't worry," Abrahm said. "At least you're not wearing this." Beneath his robe, Abrahm was wearing a two piece costume. The skirt that was wrapped around his narrow hips was so short that Ciel wondered how Abrahm would be able to move without anything... _down there_... escaping their textile confines. About his chest was a criss-cross of shining gold material. Silk or satin it seemed to be made of, though it glowed enough to be mistaken for the precious metal.

"I would hardly consider my attire to be anymore lascivious than your own," Ciel commented sourly.

Abrahm lifted an eyebrow. "Question," he said shortly. "Where did you say you were from? I swear, sometimes you talk like a bougie."

"Shouldn't they put their costumes on now?" Ciel asked. Though he asked the question to avoid incriminating himself, he was genuinely confused as to why there were several actors still in the nude so close to show time.

"Those are their costumes," Abrahm said. "Just as God made them."

"So they will be in front of people completely naked?!"

"Well, not _completely_ naked. They have blankets to cover up their dangly bits."

Ciel stared wide mouthed at Abrahm as the more seasoned actor laughed at his prudeness. He then smiled and bit his lip.

"Hey," he said. From his makeup bag, he pulled out a small glass vial filled with a green tinted oil. "I like to wear this bad luck." He pulled out the cork and put the vial close to Ciel's nose. "It's scented oil. It was the first thing I bought with some savings I had while still at the Ice Block. Do you like it?" It was a musky lavender fougere with a sweet undertone of lilac.

"I do very much," said Ciel. Abrahm smiled and put a drop on the blue veins of Ciel's thin white wrists. He then put a bit on his own finger tip and traced a heart on Ciel's chest.

"Now you'll fuck up for sure!" Abrahm nodded his head justly as he corked the cologne again.

"I beg your pardon!" Ciel was taken aback.

Abrahm looked at his fellow actor with questioning eyes. "It's bad luck to say good luck."

"Oh! Right. Sorry." Ciel scratched his head. "Just a tad nervous, I suppose."

"The first night is always the worst," Abrahm soothed. "But don't worry about it too much. You'll be terrible."

There was a quick jostling around them, and all the actors were ushered out of the dressing rooms by the rough guards and herded into another cement corridor. Their chatter bounced off the walls, clapping against its own echo like applause. There was a sharp snapping sound of a whipped cloth followed by a high pitched yelp, not unlike the sound a Yorkie makes after being trod on.

"God damn it, Phillip!" A boy cursed through clenched teeth. "Do you have to do that every night?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," answered another with pseudo flirtation. "I just can't help meself whenever I see dat ass. You know how I am, Richard."

Richard! Ciel squinted hard through the actors, but the corridor was still too dark to see any distinct features, even with the aid of the lantern bearing bodyguards. What he did know, however, was that he had noticed only three actors were naked, which definitely narrowed his search down.

The thin tunnel gave way suddenly to a massive room whose ceiling stretched so high into the shadows that it was impossible to see where it ended, if it ended at all. The room was lit up like dusk, golden light emanating from the scones on the rose coloured walls. They looked to be scrubbed and painted instead of papered, which would make sense; Ciel could not possibly imagine any factory being able to supply that much paper with which to cover them. Tall paintings of boys in varying states of undress, Narcissus, Ciel assumed, were spaced evenly around the walls. There were silver bowls holding slender sticks of burning incense. They filled the atmosphere with a haze of blood orange and neroli, the smoke curling around itself in serpentine spirals. Ciel felt as though he were gliding through a daydream when he saw them:

Cages.

Very many iron bars, hard and cold, menacing in their solid construction. Some came up from the ground, like abandoned spears on an ancient battlefield, that were topped with slabs of dull, gloomy metal. Others were raised on locked wheels, an animal's cage in a traveling circus. Some were even made to look like birdcages, the tips of the bars curved inward and welded together at the centre to form a skeletal dome. Ciel felt his heartbeat quicken as though there were a storm cloud settling above his chest. As his breathing became stubborn and thick, he felt slim arms encircle his waist and a warm cheek against his.

"Break a leg," Abrahm whispered to him. The two were pulled away from each other. Abrahm was lifted up into a birdcage and locked in to keep him from flying away, while Ciel was pulled along to the traveling circus type confine. As he was brought closer, he saw that his space was meant to emulate a pond. There was a round basin that was very shallow and low to the floor surrounded by reeds and tall daffodils. There were also, of course, countless mirrors, mostly hand mirrors, secured to the bars with thick, bendable wire. Those ornaments were not replicated from the paintings, though. No, they were a special added touch from the theatre master. Another oddity that Ciel noticed, there were plaques in front of all the cages that read, "Please Do Not Touch The Displays." Notice, the sign did not say, "Please Do Not Touch The _Actors_," but rather referred to them as _displays_. No different than the paintings that hung on the walls. No value for individual spirit, to say nothing of respect for their freedom, diminishing them to pretty moving pictures to be gawked at.

After Ciel had gotten over the initial shock of learning that he would be caged, a mocking voice spoke behind his back. "What do you think of the stage, Simon?"

Ciel did not turn his head, but kept facing forward as he dismissed Green's question and asked his own. "How much money do you make off of us?"

Ciel did not need to see Green's face to know that he was insulted by the inquiry. The offence hung in the air like vibrations made from a rung bell. He chuckled quietly. "Quite an inquisitive nature you have, my boy."

"I only ask because I was lead to believe that this was not much of an enterprise, but I am beginning to see it in a new light since this morning."

"Do you like what you see?"

"I do not."

"Then you shouldn't have been so greedy." Green had followed Ciel to his cell and thrust him inside after saying that last. "Now, Simon," Green said as he locked Ciel up tight, "I want to see all that energy you've got pent up inside you. Turn that ugly arrogance into beauty for me. Make the _inside_ match the _outside_."

Ciel crossed his arms defiantly. "And if I refuse?"

Green affected that strange expression of his that was between a smile and a vacant stare. "I am not entirely sure that you would be able to handle the repercussions of that, Simon." Though Ciel hated to admit it, the hollow tone of Green's voice, the cold-blooded quality of its delivery, made him shiver as if he were suddenly thrown out into the ice and snow. He stared at Ciel as he walked away, his shoulders and hips turning to face forward before his head, making his oily black eyes the last thing Ciel saw of him before he sauntered away completely. Ciel glared darkly after his figure. A moment later, he saw Mister Harrison waddling towards his prison.

"Alright!" Harrison said. He seemed oddly excited, much like the actors had been in the dressing room. "Are you ready?" When Ciel didn't respond, he continued speaking. "I keep telling you, do not fear! Everything will be perfectly fine. Just try your best. You may find that you enjoy it a bit."

"Harrison!" Green hollered. Mister Harrison whipped his head around and put up his hand.

"One moment, Master!" he called back. Ciel cringed at how pitiful he sounded. Mister Harrison turned back to him. "I must go now," he said, "but I only wanted to wish you the worst of luck before your debut. Make me proud, alright?"

"... Alright," Ciel said. He hadn't meant to make anyone proud, but obliged to the man's wishes for he seemed as pathetic in his position as those in the cages. Harrison nodded energetically and trotted off to Green's side. The two exchanged a quick word and Harrison bustled off to assist the bodyguards, who were performing the task of lining a banquet table with glasses of liquor. Ciel heard Green clear his throat as he meant to command the attention of the room.

"I do not believe that I need to go over too many things," he boomed apathetically, "but for the sake of our new friend-" Unfriendly glance to Ciel- "let us review the Golden Rule. Can you all say it with me?"

Every actor sighed glumly and said, "Shut your mouth and do as you're told."

Green grinned and turned to fix Ciel with his faraway eyes again. "I am sure that the procedures of the evening have been explained to you." It seemed that he was waiting for an answer but when Ciel began to speak, Green cut him off. "Good! Let us not keep the eager public waiting any longer then." He turned on his heel and left the room.

The lights of the sconces were dimmed even lower. Footlights lining the bottom of each cage were lit fiercely, the electric light stinging Ciel's vision. Each boy started kissing his reflection or admiring himself or wallowing miserably by his respective pool and Ciel began to wonder... just what the hell was he doing? But it was too late to change his mind. Through a pair of iron double doors, a large crowd of people filed into the exhibit, their titillated whispering stopping up Ciel's airways. The show must go on.


	8. Chapter 8: The Earl, In the Spotlight

**A nice, shorter chapter after the bloody novels that were the last three. **

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"How beautiful!" "Entrancing!" "Just like the paintings!"

After the love stricken audience filtered in, they huddled together, looking like a giant blot of ink, their faces and dress indistinguishable from each other. Judging by the protrusion of so many top hats throughout, the crowd was mostly male, though Ciel did spot a few curvaceous outlines of coiffed curls and bustle skirts. He wouldn't have thought that such a spectacle would be appealing to women, but sexual deviation does not discriminate. Green then seemed to materialise from thin air before them all atop of a small platform. Because of the elevation, his face was ever so slightly illuminated. He was wearing a sparkling silver mask that covered the upper half of his face. It was then that Ciel noticed why he was unable to see any of the patron's faces. They, too, were disguised with the same masks. Ciel scowled. Cowards.

"Good evening, my friends!" Green addressed the audience with grand volume and open arms, his utterance as flamboyant as his garb. He wore ebony breeches and chestnut knee boots. His coat was jacquard and wine red, his waistcoat warm golden brown over stark white shirtsleeves, his puff tie cinnamon coloured and fastened with a diamond. "Welcome to the Exhibition." The crowd clapped dully, bringing their hands together as though cautious not to make a sound, which they most likely did on purpose. Too much noise and the inner workings of the warehouse would become obvious to the world outside. "Thank you all for your generous contributions," Green continued. "Were it not for you patronage, this event would surely have expired years ago."

'Years?' Ciel thought. 'Just how long has this madhouse been in business?'

"To inform the new and remind the old, please, do not try to engage with the performers in any manner. As tempting as speech may be, we want to make your experience of our exhibit as authentic as possible. Think on it, would a painting speak?" The audience laughed light heartedly. Whisperings of the word "no" could even be heard among them. Green smiled and shook his head. "I did not think so." He clapped his hands. "So, without further ado, enjoy yourselves as I grant you entry to the Exhibition of Narcissus!"

There was an undercurrent of enlivened murmurings and the crowd dispersed enough for Ciel to see that there were actually many, many people. More so than he had originally thought. Many patrons moseyed over to the tables to help themselves to glasses of wine or snifters of brandy. Several lit up cigars or hand rolled cigarettes. And if he was not mistaken, he could also detect the distinctly blueish puff of opium smoke unfurling in the air. The combined haze from the incense and heady tobacco caused Ciel's head to spin and twirl. The patrons walked amongst the cages, pointing and critiquing as though they really were wandering through the Louvre. Ciel looked about at his fellow actors, both disgusted by the vulgar display and as fascinated as the audience. He supposed that he should get into character as well. He turned his head and finally caught a glimpse of his reflection. He almost didn't recognise himself. The boy in the mirror was not Ciel Phantomhive, no- it was a porcelain marionette. The only thing missing from his poppet visage was a few strings. Though he felt ridiculous lusting after himself like a love lorn simpleton, he did not want to look through the iron bars at the masked faces. Reviling, horror filled recollections bled through the wall he had built in his mind. He leaned his powdered forehead against a mirror and closed his charcoal smeared eyes. Breathe iiin... 1... 2... 3... Breathe ooout... 3... 2... 1...

After what felt like an eternity, but in reality must have only been fifteen minutes, the lights were turned off on every cage except one. He took a breath and opened his eyes to watch the show. The footlights shown on an actor whose cage was grounded. He was completely naked aside from a red blanket draped over his lap to cover his... ahem... "dangly bits." The inside of his cage was _splendidly_ done up to resemble a riverside landscape. There was a large fake rock covered with fake moss, fake grass and fake daffodils. The actor sat beside a low, long water-filled basin, leaning his elbow against the faux granite with a look of honest boredom drawn on his face. After yawning into his hand, which was a real yawn for the exhibit had not been very eventful up to that point, he began to recite his lines.

As he spoke, the boy in the cage to Ciel's right said, "God _damn_. Dat ass." The centre stage actor must have been Richard. Ciel finally had a clear view of him then. His hair was flaxen and wispy, his physique on the cusp of muscular though still quite slim. He couldn't have been over sixteen. There was also a hint of regality to his diction that Ciel could pick up straight away, despite the fact that he obviously tried to hide it by curbing his T's and F's. Richard concluded his short monologue by taking a long, shining blade to his stomach. For a moment, Ciel was horrified by what he saw. Blood poured out as if from a broken dam, covering the blade and ground with scarlet. Then he remembered an interesting fact he had learned at the Ice Block. To enhance the violence of a fighting scene, actors would wear pig bladders full of animal blood underneath their costumes that the swords could easily pierce, creating the illusion that the actor had been fatally stabbed. By the way that Richard was pressing the blade between his arm and side, the bladder must have been attached on some part of his ribcage. He then cried out melodramatically and fell backwards, disappearing among the flowers. The footlights of his stage faded gradually to black and the audience burst into grateful applause, briefly forgetting to keep their presence a secret.

In the midst of the noise there arose a disturbingly familiar cry. "Oh! Such expressions of beauty, grace and artfulness! I never would have believed that this aesthetic perfection existed in human form had I not seen it with my own eyes!" Ciel felt as though he would be sick. It was the Viscount of Druitt. Of course. Wherever an act of depravity foolishly masquerading as art was to be found, the Viscount would not miss it for the world. He fluttered around the cages like a bumblebee pollinating wildflowers, ignoring the rules by attempting to speak with the actors. The footlights on all the cages were again turned up to their original glaring brightness.

'Damn,' Ciel thought desperately, 'He mustn't see me.' His eyes darted around his cage, searching for any means of escape, becoming ever more aware of the eyes that reflected from the audience in the mirrors, his own eye reflected over and over, watching himself from all angles until he did not feel like he was living in his own body anymore but really witnessing the licentious events from the infinite ceiling, tension rising, too many eyes, their bated breath like barn animals, he could smell the liquor sticking to their scratchy tongues, whispering behind hands, fingers pointing, bending at his knees. "Stop it, please." Crowding around, marveling at the show, glorifying the victim, praising his fragility. "He's so beautiful." Ciel put his hands over his ears to block out their misguided adoration, he was sweating, choking, shaking.

"Whatever is the matter, my little cage bird?" Viscount's smooth talk was as gritty as graphite.

"No, please." Blubber. "Go away." Sniffle. "Leave me alone."

Abrahm looked up from his watery twin at the sudden congregation by Simon's stage. He saw Simon on his knees and holding on to either side of his head as though experiencing excruciating pain. Those were not the signs of someone "cracking under the pressure," as those in the know would say, but rather the symptoms of serious emotional distress. And no one was doing a single thing about it. In fact, the theatre master was as much of a voyeur as the audience members. Abrahm knew that it was against strict rules to deviate from the set list, but he needed to do something. Simon had helped him that afternoon. He wanted to return the favour. After standing straight and clearing his throat importantly, he began to sing.

A clean, pretty tenor sounded out over the ringing in Ciel's ears. It was woeful and longing, the song he sang. Of rippling reflections and bottomless burden. By the time Ciel had gathered himself enough to look up, the crowd had shifted over to Abrahm, Viscount being front and centre. Abrahm even gazed directly back at the man with heartbroken eyes, allowing a strap of his costume to boldly slip off his shoulder. The lights were killed on all cages as Abrahm sang.

In the heat of his episode, Ciel had nearly forgotten why he was in that g-d forsaken cage in the first place. It was time to end the sickening charade and summon the-

"Ah!" Ciel gasped. Someone had reached through the bars and touched his bare ankle! He looked down at the patron who donned a heavy traveling cloak and a smile. He stood plainly, looking up at Ciel in his raised prison. Ciel growled, "How dare you lay your hand upon my-" Just then, the show goer put a gloved pointer finger over his lips.

"_shh-_"

Sebastian!

"Everyone is gone," he whispered. "No need to worry."

Ciel took a few more deep breaths to steady his senses before he spoke. He had his chance to escape. No time to dally. "Without causing a scene," Ciel emphasised, "get us out of here _now_."

Sebastian bowed his head slightly. "Yes, my Lord." He fiddled about with the wires leading to the footlights, snapping apart several seemingly random cords. Because they were already dark, no one noticed that the electricity to Ciel's lighting had been cut. Sebastian then snapped the small padlock on the door with his hand so quietly that it hardly made the sound of a mouse's neck being broken. He opened the door as thin as possible, just far enough for Ciel to sidle through. Then absurdly, but effectively, the Butler hid the Young Master inside of his traveling coat. Ciel clung to Sebastian's middle, the balls of his feet balancing on the Butler's insteps, much like a child would dance with their parent. Sebastian acted as though he were supporting his gluttonous gullet as he walked carefully through the crowd.


	9. Chapter 9: The Butler, Exit! Stage Left

**This chapter was especially fun to write. I think after having Ciel alone for the last few chapters, I missed writing the back-and-forth between him and Sebastian.**

* * *

Ciel never felt more infantile than when he was clinging baby sloth style to the narrow middle of his Butler. It mattered not notch that no one could see him because _he_ would remember. Oh, well. Whatever must be done to win, it can't be helped. All around, Ciel heard the clickety-clack of shiny heels striking the cracked floor. Every so often, an elbow would jab him in the temple or along his spine. Sebastian did his best to avoid such occurrences, though. Ciel could tell by the way he side-stepped and twirled on the balls of his feet like a danseur. In hindsight, there may never have been a more peaceful jailbreak in the entire history of the world, which is most likely why Sebastian was stopped just before he had made it clear out of the exhibit.

"Well, good evening, sir."

Ciel had to stifle his gasp in Sebastian's chest. It was Green. 'Please be careful, Sebastian,' he thought.

"I am not sure that I have seen you here before." Green sounded both cordial and suspicious, that peculiar juxtaposition that was always present in his manner of speech.

Sebastian's diaphragm vibrated as he spoke. "How can you be so sure? I am wearing a mask."

"I believe that I would recognise such an impressive stature." There was a small pause before Green continued his interrogation. "Are you enjoying the show?"

"It is quite intriguing." Though it sometimes annoyed Ciel to no end, he was mostly impressed by Sebastian's ability to answer a question without actually answering the question. "Where do you find such stunning actors?"

Green laughed. "Ah, here and there," he said airily. "The majority of them came here out of curiosity."

"And the ones who did not?"

"My, my, you are full of questions!" Again, Green's voice took on a contradictory tone. Though he laughed, there was a fine layer of poison coating his words. Green's ability of avoidance rivaled Sebastian's own for he said, "I see you are empty handed. Did you not treat yourself to a drink?"

"Oh, no." Sebastian kept one arm around Ciel's back while he, presumably, waved the other hand in the air with an affected casualness. "I am not one for drinking."

"Oh, but I insist!" Ciel felt Green's elbow brush against the top of his head as he touched some part of the Butler's upper body. "We have an extremely elegant vintage red tonight. Would you not like to sample a glass?" Sebastian hesitated for only one second before Green said, "Of course you would! Tonight is a night for indulgence! I will be back in a tick. Then I would love to speak with you further." Green's footsteps clip-clopped away. Ciel waited until their sound mingled deeply with the others before he squeezed Sebastian's sides, much like he would a horse to command it to run faster. The Butler understood and strode from the room at an alarming pace.

At a certain point, Ciel was released from his woolen cocoon. He stumbled backward and was hit by a chilling air that made his bare skin prickle all over with painful little mounds. He took in a breath and said, "Do NOT accept drinks from that man!"

Sebastian removed his mask while laughing. "You would know that, sir?"

"Yes, I would!" Ciel gathered his willowy fingers into little fists and hurt his heel after stomping on the ground. "Where the hell were you and why did you not come to me?"

"I never left from my station outside of this building," the Butler answered. "I was waiting for a signal. I did not receive one."

"Sebastian!" Ciel tried to keep his voice low, so his angry words pushed out of him in raspy outbursts. "You heard not a word from me all night! Did you not feel it necessitated to see that I was safe?"

"No." Sebastian shrugged. "I knew that you were fine. You are perfectly able to defend yourself, to a point, using your wit. I've seen you do it before."

Ciel crossed his arms. "I suppose I should be flattered by that but I'm not."

"Forgive me, sir."

"No. Now to pull the curtain on this production. Sebastian." The Butler came to attention and stood at the ready for his command. "I do hope you still have a hold of Green's scent, because I need you to locate his office."

"Yes, my Lord." He lifted the Young Master into his arms and set off through the levels of the warehouse, traveling with frightening speed.

Outside of a shabby door, he gently lowered Ciel to his feet and asked, "Why must we stop here?"

"There is a book that I saw Green writing in when I first entered this place. I want to know what information it contains."

"As you wish."

The door was locked, as doors tend to be, but like that had ever stopped the partners in grime. As though there was no such precautionary measure to protect the office from intruders, Sebastian turned the knob and pushed it open. The inside of the room remained unchanged, save the ghostly embers in the hearth that cast off a grazing of orange light and a new tea stain on the rug. Ciel made his way over to the desk and began rifling through the drawers. Not a one was locked, or rather the locks were so old that they were completely rotted away and non-functional. Sebastian locked the door behind them and stood closely by, laughing quietly.

Ciel looked up calmly, though he felt anything but after all that the evening had put him through. "Might I ask what you find to be so funny?"

"That costume is truly becoming on you, my Lord," Sebastian smiled. "You look like a Grecian mime."

"I... ugh!" Ciel made a noise in his throat that scratched his vocal chords roughly. "I am not even going to bother with you anymore. I've gotten what I came here for." He withdrew the large book that he had seen Green scribbling in the previous evening. "Let's take it to the Yard."

"You do not want to see what is inside it first?"

"Sebastian!" Ciel pretended to be shocked. "You want to snoop around in others' personal business?"

"A bit."

"So do I." Ciel plopped the book down on the desk's surface and Sebastian used his supranatural_*_ command over fire to light a nearby oil lamp. At first glance, the book seemed to contain nothing but financial recordings: ticket prices (which were ridiculously high, nearly five pounds per person******), production expenses, damage repairs. But as the pages were turned, they revealed more ominous findings. There were photographs of each actor, their name, the theatre from which they came, the date they went missing. Even Simon's likeness and personal details were among them, though Ciel did not recall ever sitting for a photograph. In addition to the actor's information, each security person had their histories documented. It did not surprise the Earl and his Butler in the least to see that the vast majority of them were ex-convicts, having either escaped from prison or been bailed out by a "friend." Ciel did not see Reggie among them. He could not imagine, though, that the oaf was ever a functioning member of society.

"Quite the cloak-and-dagger operation, that Green is running," remarked Sebastian. "Look here." He pointed to a long list. Ciel inspected the list in question:

- D. Hudson, Leeds: Jan- 3, '79

- S. Smith, Sheffield: Mar- 4, '80

- J. Speck, Derby: Apr- 2, '80

- R. Weyerbacher, Birmingham: Jun- 2,'80

The list ran the length of five pages, traveling halfway down a sixth.

"Good lord," Ciel said under his breath. "There is ten years of kidnapping documented here."

"A month here, a month there... I suppose it is a record of how many actors were duped, in what city and in what year" Sebastian observed. "I would not consider the names to be affiliates. They may just be a record of his pseudonyms so he does not use the same name twice."

"How many from London this year?" Ciel asked.

"... Hmm, there is not an official number as of yet," the Butler answered. "I would think they wouldn't record their captures until they have relocated. There is a tally going, however."

"One, two, three, so far," Ciel said. "So that would be Richard, Abrahm, and myself."

"Is Abrahm the boy who started singing?" The Butler asked suddenly.

Ciel quickly lifted his head. "How did you guess that?"

"Recalling the list that Her Majesty gave you," Sebastian said, "the youngest actor to go missing was Abrahm Myles from the Ice Block. He did not look much older than the Young Master and there was an obvious sense of comradery, as he was clearly trying to comfort you. The obligation he felt may stem from you belonging to the same theatre company as he."

"I wouldn't call it comradery," Ciel said. "Or obligation."

"Perhaps not on your end. But you do owe him a debt of gratitude."

Ciel wavered before saying, "Well, I think ending this 'play' will be gratitude enough."

"That it will be."

"Now that we've satisfied our curiosity, let's get this to the Yard." Ciel gathered the book to his chest. "Perhaps it can be of some use to them."

Just then, there was a group of hurried footsteps outside of the door and quiet growls of agitated conversation. Ciel did not need to make a command to spur the Butler into action. Sebastian extinguished the oil lamp, pushed Ciel underneath the settee and hid himself in a space between a bookcase and the wall. Ciel held his breath as the door flew open and a group of men burst into the room. Green's was the first voice he heard distinctly.

"I KNEW it!" He spat. There was no contrast of humours in his words then. He spoke with pure rage. "I knew there was something strange about that boy! Now he's gone! And I bet he slipped away right under my nose. FUCK!" Something slammed heavily on the desk, mostly likely Green's fist.

"Oh, come now, David," a languid voice consoled, "relaaax. He couldn't have gotten far."

"For his sake, he better not have," Green snapped. "And don't tell me to relax. _I am relaxed_."

"How about you have a smoke?" The lazy voice said. "Soothes the nerves."

"NO!" Green shouted. "When have I ever said 'yes' to your goddamn opium? That's right- never! So stop asking me already!"

"Suit yourself." The sluggish man sat upon the settee, right above Ciel's head. The cushion beneath him sagged dangerously low, and though Ciel was not being crushed, there was only about an inch of space between it and his skull. There was the sharp flicking sound of a match against a matchcover followed shortly after by a relishing exhalation.

"Wait a moment," said a third voice. "That boy... is he the same as the one we saw at the ice cube or whatever it was called?"

"Yes," Green said impatiently.

"Eye patch? Quite short? Skinny?"

"Yes."

"And he disappeared, you're thinking, with an older man in all black?"

"Once he was gone, so, too, was Simon."

The man above Ciel's head began to laugh, the cushion beneath him jumping slovenly in time with his guffaws.

"And what are you laughing at, Lynch?" Green snarled.

"You have been sniffed out by the Queen's watchdog, you have!" the man said.

"What the bloody hell does a dog have to do with this?" Green demanded. "How high are you exactly? Samuels, what is he on about?"

"What our dear friend means," said Samuels, the third voice, "is that there is a certain family trusted by the Crown to police the Underground and eliminate anyone who may pose a threat to the Queen. This family is known as Phantomhive. From what I recollect, the boy's parents were killed some four years ago, and he has since filled the shoes of his late father. I've heard it said that he travels with a tall butler everywhere he goes."

"And how exactly," replied a frustrated theatre master, "does my playhouse pose a threat to that old lady in the big castle?"

"The boy named Richard," said Lynch, who did not even try to hide his amusement, "is Her Majesty's kin. A great nephew, apparently."

"Well, a big fat, bleedin' **THANK YOU **for telling me that ahead of time!" Another object caused a great noise. It sounded like Green had swiped his desk clear of its ornaments.

"We didn't know that he was royalty," Samuels defended. "I only saw it in the paper less than a week ago."

"Still." Green sounded slightly more collected but still inflamed. "These things must be brought to my attention." He sighed heatedly. "Had I known... had I but known that the boy was being watched so closely, I never would have approached him."

"Pfft! Sure, you wouldn't have," Lynch mocked.

There was a deadly silence. Ciel could hear his heart thumping against the threadbare carpet.

"What was that, Lynch?" Green said. His voice was so quiet it verged on a whisper.

The stupid man above Ciel did not seem to notice that he was getting himself into trouble. "Well, damn, David," he said. "Your obsession with handsome young men is hardly unknown."

"I would not call it an obsession," Green adopted his signature tone. "It is merely an appreciation."

"Riiight," Lynch said. "So you have never been inappropriate with any of those boys?"

"... Define 'inappropriate,'" Green said.

"Well, that little song bird has always been especially wary of you."

"Abrahm? He's a timid boy. He's wary around everyone." Ciel's stomach turned. Abrahm...

"Sure thing." Lynch then added under his breath, "Sodomite."

There was a shuffling sound of foot falls rushing towards the settee. The weight of Lynch left his seat and the cushion sprung upwards. An opium laced cigarette fell to the floor and hissed as it singed a hole into the carpet.

"What did you call me, Lynch?" Green asked venomously.

The response came out in croaked syllables. "Nothing! Nothing!"

"You did not make a nasty little aside just now?"

"No! No!"

Green's laugh was joyless, deep in his throat. "You lie."

The choking became more intense. "Stop!"

"Stop? You want me to stop?"

"YES!"

"That's funny! Because I want you to stop as well."

The agonising noise continued longer than Ciel thought he could stand. After a torturous duration, a heavy thud, like a sack of potatoes being dropped, sounded next to Ciel's face. Through the scantest bit of space between the sette's skirt and the floor, Ciel could make out the dark cloth of a velvet coat and locks of thin brown hair.

"Good Lord, David," Samuels said with absolute bewilderment. "Y... you killed him."

"Oh, please." Ciel saw the very bottom of Green's boots move away from the fresh corpse. "The man had nothing but enemies. He would have been killed sooner or later. But back to business." He cleared his throat. "This Phantomhive. Is he really a threat?"

"Er... yes." Samuels attempted to lift himself from his horrified stupor. "Once engaged, he never loses a game of fetch. His victims hang in the gallows or they are never heard from again."

"Shit." Green thought for a moment. "Well. We have no time to waste then. Let's pack up the boys tonight. I have a contact up north who owes me a favour."

"... Yes..." Samuels seemed doubtful of escape.

'As well he should be,' Ciel thought.

Samuels continued, referring to Lynch's body. "But what about him?"

"It's not a problem at all," Green answered incredibly easily for one who just murdered another. "I'll have my brother take care of it. But we must leave _now_." A drawer was thrust open and Ciel's heart stopped. A pause followed in which Ciel thought Green would set the whole room aflame but... nothing happened. Instead, he heard a chortle and a sigh. "Ah. Quite the clever little devil, that Si- I mean, _Phantomhive_." The surname sounded like a detestable contagion when spoken by one such as he. "Well, if that is the game he wants to play, then I suppose we have to follow his rules." The drawer was gently closed. "Come, Samuels. Let's teach this pup how to play with the big dogs." Two pairs of footsteps treaded out of the room and shut the door softly.

"Young Master." Sebastian's sudden whisper in the darkness made Ciel near jump out of his skin.

"Ugh, Sebastian! You gave me a fright!"

"I do apologise, my Lord. But I thought it might have been more startling if a corpse suddenly stirred, so I felt I should make my presence known to you before moving the body."

"Oh. Right then."

The body of Lynch was pulled clear away to allow Ciel plenty of room to free himself without coming into contact with it.

"Well. You heard him, Sebastian," Ciel said. "He thinks he is going to beat us? It's time he learn whom he is dealing with."

Sebastian's sharpened eye teeth glowed in the dark as he grinned. "Yes, my Lord."

* * *

*** "No, suPRAnatural. It's like a whole 'nother level above suPER." Points if you know what movie that's from :P**

**** With all the inflation that was going on during their time and now during ours, the disparity between Victorian monetary values and our own is incredibly confusing to me. From what I've been able to gather, though, is that in the latter half of the nineteenth century, a pound was worth about a hundred times less than what it's worth now. So five Victorian pounds would be about five hundred current pounds, or eight hundred dollars.**


	10. Chapter 10: The Earl, Hoodwinked

**Note to the ever-so-silent Readers: My goodness, you lot are quiet as church mice! I am going to assume that you are all just so mesmerised with the story and its beauty that you simply have no words to express your feelings of love to me. I jest, I jest. :P**

**Honestly, though, I wanted to get a dialogue going! This may be a story of fictional characters (that I didn't even create, as you know) in a fictional setting, but this phenomenon happens all the time. The idea of turning someone's plight into entertainment. The general public seems to be obsessed with anything macabre or unsettling. It's evidenced heavily by the fact that it's perfectly acceptable to stalk celebrities and taunt them for all of their woes and the fervour with which people religiously watch televised court cases- the more gruesome, the better (Jodi Arias, anyone?). As always, I am humbled by the followers/readers that I have, but I was hoping to start a conversation with this one. It's my hope that in later chapters, after our favourite Young Master and his lovely Butler have a bit of a heart to heart on the subject, you all can throw in your two cents, too. To be clear, though- I will never be that person who quits writing a story just because it doesn't have too many reviews/follows/favourites. Though those things are wonderful (and make me a bit giddy, if I'm being truthful), I write because I love to do it. And I can never walk away from something once I start it. So I'm not threatening to cut you all off or something, I only want to hear your opinions on the matter. With that said, massive squeezy-hugs to those who did make themselves known to me in some way. Especially promocat- you are on top of things, miss! *huggles***

**Oh my god. Ranting much, Silvia? Sorry, haha! Also, at this point, I don't have anymore chapters already written but I'll try to post once a week. Okay, go!**

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That time of night the only types of people occupying the street were belligerent drunks, strung out cocaine shooters and painted street walkers, bearing more breast and leg than a Christmas turkey. They called out to Sebastian, questioning his romantic availability and teased Ciel for his tarted up face (though the Butler had tried his best to remove as much of the damn maquillage as possible). Sebastian had also leant his Master the traveling coat so he was spared walking about looking like... well, looking like Narcissus.

The offices of the Yard were full of uniformed men and shackled suspects. Lord Randall was shuffling through a thick stack of papers when he looked up at the two who had just entered the building. He groaned angrily as he saw the swaggering Earl and his smarmy Butler approach. He noticed that the boy's face was smeared with what appeared to be make up, wore about his right eye a ridiculous flower patch and he was without his signature top hat and cane. But he did not much care what kind of hijinks the two got up to in their spare time.

"Good evening, my Lord," Randall said with airs. "No doubt you are here to inform yourself on the whereabouts of Her Majesty's great nephew. And while we appreciate all you do for us, you can rest assured that we are making great progress in the way of his discovery and do not require your skill set at this time."

"Is that so?" Ciel smiled. "Then I suppose after all your _tireless_ searching and _outstanding_ leads you will be quite chagrined to hear that I have already found Richard." Lord Randall dropped his jaw, as did several others around him. Sebastian handed over Green's business card and the record book. "He is imprisoned at that address and being used as a sick new form of entertainment for the elite, portraying the Greek myth of Narcissus," Ciel said. "You know, it only took me one attempt to find him. You should all at least _try_ to keep up."

Lord Randall's squat face reddened grossly. One could imagine that if he were a cartoon in Punch there would be steam spouting from his ears. "Thank you very much, Earl Phantomhive," the man said through his teeth. "Always a pleasure to work with you."

"Likewise." Ciel nodded his head. Lord Randall turned to an officer with a tall, rounded hat that had been standing just behind him and started pelting him with orders. Ciel said discreetly to Sebastian, "Let's tail them. I want to be sure that Green is apprehended and Richard is found."

"Yes, sir."

The duo followed closely on rooftop, skipping like stones, the sirens and clattering hooves below jumping up into the sky. Ciel wished that the Yard had been more quiet about their pursuit, but Green did not seem like the type who would mind having an audience for his final performance. It looked so far that he would have quite the crowd. Every passerby took the Yard's measure. Some children had even woken from sleep and followed after in their pajamas and bare feet. With blaring horns, the officers lambasted the building. As they watched from the rooftop, Sebastian put his hand on Ciel's shoulder.

"There is a problem, my Lord," he said. His face was pinched at the centre with concern. "I do not sense any children inside."

"What do you mean?" Ciel was struck with panic. They couldn't have possibly left already. How can an entire acting company pick up everything and relocate in under an hour?

Sebastian shook his head. "They are gone. All but one."

The officers below filtered out of the building. Though Ciel could not see him, he was sure that Lord Randall was scoffing at his failure. He made sweeping gestures with his arms while shouting something that Ciel could not discern. The officers who had invaded the building set off in different directions, most likely to search the area.

"Sebastian," Ciel commanded, "get us into that building and lead me to the one who was left behind."

"Yes, my Lord." Sebastian held the Young Master securely before he bounded through the air to the roof of the warehouse.

The roof had a small structure that opened with an iron door. They let themselves inside and walked down the set of stairs to a shuttered lift. The two rode it for longer than Ciel had when he was taken to the dressing rooms. It must have been heading underground. The lift continually creaked and jolted, threatening its occupants with the prospect of giving out at any moment. When it finally did thud down on the ground of their destination, the Butler pulled open the shutters to reveal absolute darkness. It smelt of mouldy earth and slippery stone, and their footsteps echoed a thousand times over the first step they made. Sebastian could hear the scuttling sounds of insects that dwelled within the abyss.

"A lantern may have been helpful," Ciel said.

"I will guide you to him," said Sebastian. He placed his hands on Ciel's shoulders and steered him steadily through the dark. The ground was dotted all over with puddles and mud. That part of the building must have been uninhabited for so long that most of the floor had crumbled into dust. Ciel stepped on something that simultaneously squished and crunched underneath his insubstantial joke of a shoe. He gagged faintly. "We're almost there," Sebastian encouraged. "Just a few more steps." Ciel's outstretched hands were met with a softened piece of wood. It was damp and eaten away from moisture. He felt for the handle but handle there was none. Only a hole in the wood where one should have been. Sebastian pushed the door open and nudged Ciel inside.

"... Hello?" Ciel called, feeling a bit silly talking to the air.

"Eh? Who's there?" The voice that responded was very groggy but familiar.

"Abrahm?"

"...! Simon? Simon, is that you?"

Ciel moved forward as quickly as he could in the dark. Though there were zero sources of natural light, his eye had adjusted enough that he could make out a small body chained to the wall with manacles. Ciel knelt before him.

"Abrahm? What the hell did they do to you?"

"You came back for me, Simon!" Abrahm was having trouble holding up his head and he slurred his words together.

"... Yes," Ciel said. "Now, let's get you out of here. We can talk more upstairs." Ciel turned his words to Sebastian. "Let's bring him to Randall."

The Butler snapped the iron cuffs off of Abrahm's wrists. He needed to be helped up from the ground and steadied once on his feet as he swayed back and forth like a reed in a storm. Ciel and Sebastian lead him out of what would have been his grave to the lift, supporting him between each other. They did not ride for very long until they stopped at a level filled with officers. All around were abandoned cages, the insides still fitted with mirrors and flowers. The ground was littered with cigarette stubs and empty wine glasses. It looked like no time at all had been wasted in jumping ship. After bringing him out of the lift, Ciel could see that Abrahm had a split lip and spots of blood all over the front of his meager stage costume. He had been given a black eye, a welt on his cheek and bruises all over his skin. His eyes fought to stay focused and open. Ciel and Sebastian lead him carefully into the crowd but Abrahm's knees gave out and he collapsed to the floor.

"I can't go any further," he said. His chest heaved with effort.

"You don't have to," Ciel said. He again kneeled down in front of him when Lord Randall came stomping over.

"What on _Earth_ are you two doing here?" he asked abruptly. "And who is he?"

"This is Abrahm Myles," Ciel said loudly. "One of the victims of the Stage Prowler. It might be wise to listen to what he has to say." Lord Randall was no doubt offended by the young Earl's tone, but put his professionalism before his distaste. He kneeled beside the Earl to listen to the bruised boy. "Abrahm," Ciel continued, "tell us, who did this to you? Was it the theatre master?"

Abrahm nodded slowly. When he spoke, his breathing dragged as though he had just run cross country. "He thought that you were conspiring with me. You asked a lot of questions... you were... too difficult. You didn't want to act like the rest of us did." Ciel thought he had pulled off the guise of the enthusiastic amateur quite well, but he supposed there was no fooling experts. Abrahm took another breath. "Because I was singing when I wasn't supposed to be, he thought I was covering your escape. He interrogated me about who you are. We came from the same theatre... shared the same room... When I said I never met you before, he didn't believe me. So he left me for dead. Gave me somethin' through a syringe to stop me from screamin.'"

"He could have killed you," Ciel said.

Abrahm laughed shortly. "I wouldn't be the first."

"What do you mean?"

"What do you think happens when a boy gets too old to be Narcissus? Unless he's traded into some other ring, or sold to an 'art' enthusiast, he's silenced. He can't just be released. He would blab."

Lord Randall joined the dialogue. "How do you know about all of this?"

Abrahm shrugged. "People talk. I've overheard some of the master's conversations with his partners. Apparently every two years or so there's, what the boys started calling, a 'round up.' He and his partners travel to a handful cities, snatching up whoever strikes their fancy. Eventually they make a 'residency' in some abandoned building once they have ten or more boys. He actually meant to stay in London for quite a while, where the real money is, but then you showed up." He looked at Ciel with a covert smile. "He was none too happy 'bout that. But, somehow, I know that the master will manage to lure more people in. Such an idiot," he said under his breath. Ciel wasn't sure if he was commenting on Green's shamelessness or his own gullible nature.

"So it is a troupe of sorts?" asked Randall.

"Right," Abrahm answered. "Richard and I are from London. There are some from Bristol, some from Trent, some from York... all over, really."

"Did you happen to catch where they were headed to?" Ciel asked urgently. As interesting as it all was, he had already figured out the details from Green's record book. They were wasting time.

Abrahm's head and neck drooped in thought. "... I'm pretty sure he said something about Manchester. Apparently, he helped someone set up an exhibit there recently."

"Sounds about right," Sebastian said to Ciel. They nodded at each other and Ciel stood up. Abrahm grabbed Ciel's coat sleeve.

"Your name isn't Simon, is it?"

Ciel shook his head. "No."

"Then who are you?"

"My name is Earl Ciel Phantomhive, the Watchdog of Her Majesty, the Queen. It is my duty to sniff out and eradicate all those who threaten the security of the Kingdom by abusing their powers in the Underground System. You know Richard as an actor, like yourself, but he is also Her Majesty's great nephew. I have been ordered to retrieve him."

Abrahm's eyes widened at Ciel's words. "Whoa. Like a penny dreadful* anti-hero." He then looked to Sebastian and smiled. "And who is this fine gentleman?"

Sebastian bowed. "I am the Earl's butler, Sebastian."

Abrahm flushed. "Nice to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine," Sebastian smiled.

Ciel cleared his throat. "And this is Lord Randall." He gestured to the man who had stood up beside him. "You will be put into his care while I track down Richard. No time to waste, Sebastian." Ciel and Sebastian were moving to exit the building when they were called back by both Randall and Abrahm at once.

"And just where do you think you're going?" said Randall.

"I want to go with you!" Abrahm pleaded. He babbled on before Randall could get another word in. "I've survived with the master for months! I know what you're going up against!"

"That may be so," answered Ciel, "but frankly, in your present state, you would only slow us down." Abrahm dropped his foggy head in defeat.

"And what about all of us?" Lord Randall gestured towards the officers. "Are we just supposed to wait until you two come back?"

"Yes," Ciel simply said. Randall looked unconvinced. "It was my assigned mission to find Richard and apprehend the Stage Prowler," Ciel explained. "I have not finished either task yet. And honestly, you and your men would be a hindrance as well. You made quite a show of investigating the building. Sebastian and I set out to use more subtle methods."

"I do not care to hear about your 'methods,'" Randall sneered. He pulled Abrahm up by his arm and steadied him by the shoulders. "Send a line when you have Richard." He lead Abrahm away sullenly, but the boy turned back to Ciel for one last word.

"Don't get yourselves killed! That man will do anything to protect his secrets."

Ciel and Sebastian gave identical smirks. "It looks like the theatre master has met his match then," Ciel said. "So will we."

* * *

***And once again, we turn to Wikipedia! A penny dreadful was "a type of British fiction publication in the 19th century that usually featured lurid serial stories appearing in parts over a number of weeks, each part costing one (old) penny. ... The penny dreadfuls were printed on cheap pulp paper and were aimed primarily at working class adolescents." The joke is, of course, that if it were not 2013 and manga wasn't so expensive, Ciel _would_ be a penny dreadful anti-hero.**


	11. Chapter 11: The Butler, Travel Guide

**Note to the Lovely Readers: I checked my e-mail this morning and was so tickled pink by your sweet words that I felt inspired to write this during down time at work today! It took me a little less than an hour to write and about fifteen minutes to edit, so it's not much- just a short interlude between the previous chapter and the one following this (wherein I write about psychic gipsies and shady innkeepers). **

**Also, if I may point something out: Senjuina wrote in the comments section that despite its prim and proper façade, there was never more brothels in England than during this part of the century; most notably in the City of London (which may or may or not be why I referenced it, wink wink nudge nudge) where 80% of the population was made up of prostitutes! In addition to the sexualisation of Narcissus and Ophelia, this story was also inspired by the Cleveland Street Scandal in 1889, where a Telegraph office had a dual seedy purpose.**

* * *

After popping back to the manor for a quick wardrobe change and a bag of essentials (warm clothing, sensible footwear, bullets, etc.), the Earl and his Butler found themselves in King's Cross Station. Due to the late hour, the platform was practically empty, save for a few lonely businessmen with scotch on their breath and stubble on their cheeks. Though it's normal for a servant to travel coach while the master or mistress travels first class, it was simply safer for the two to remain together, considering that the Young Master had already been tricked once because he was alone. They settled comfortably across from each other in a luxury compartment and waited no time at all for the engine to be fed, the whistle to scream and the wheels to start grinding forwards. A woman came knocking at the sliding door, asking if the travelers would be interested in a refreshment. Sebastian bought for the Young Master a scalding cup of lemongrass tea. He could tell by the Master's curt words and cold way of brushing off his attempts at conversation that the hour was making him cranky. Perhaps a nice warm cuppa would brighten his mood. Ciel sipped his tea half-heartedly as the train huffed and puffed and hummed noisily. His nerves crawled beneath his skin like worms through wet earth. To combat his discomfort, Ciel spoke.

"You said that you never left from outside of the warehouse. How then did you know about the show?"

"Well." Sebastian crossed his legs and settled back into the cushions, preparing to tell a long story. "I took into consideration what you said about the possibility of several Stage Prowlers. During your second performance, I noticed that there was a pair of men who looked rather suspicious. At first glance, they looked to be your average couple of rag-tag rascals, but after careful examination, I noticed that their clothing was ripped on purpose. Though there were holes throughout the material, not an edge was frayed, meaning that they had been made using a sharp tool. And what had originally appeared to be coal on their faces was nothing but press powder, no different than what you had been wearing as Narcissus. They might as well have been on stage for they were entirely in costume. And if memory serves me correctly, the two men in Green's office, Samuels and the late Lynch, mentioned watching you perform. They were all a-whisper when you took the stage, asking if you were 'the one.' They cheered especially loudly during your final bow."

Ciel shuddered. Such perversion. "Why did you not tell me this?"

"You already had such a strong lead," Sebastian said. "It would have been unwise to wait any longer to investigate. I was also quite sure that they had been directed there by another."

"Did you seek them out?"

"I kept them within earshot after the show had concluded. They made quite a show out of their conversation, making it sound like drunken gibberish. It was very believable. Rhyming slang***** is so very personalised, it can be impossible for an outsider to decipher. But I was able to fish out enough information that it became obvious to me they were in league with Green. What is more, is that they wanted somebody to notice."

Sip of tea. "What were they saying?"

Sebastian rolled his eyes, unimpressed. "They made it sound like they had found a building in which they could drink excessively without being caught by the police. They said that everyone inside could be completely anonymous while spending the evening entertaining each other. There were others, they said, that were theatre enthusiasts, some of whom even acted as well. Their rhymes were laced with references to Greek myths. Those words, the card that you had been given and their interest in you confirmed my suspicions."

"I suppose you spoke to them then?"

"I did. Using the same sort of quasi-East Ender lingo, I asked if they would be so obliged as to welcome another theatrical devotee into their club. As I thought, they were more than willing to share with me the location and password for the grand event. More patrons means more money, yes?"

"Well, they have to advertise somehow, I suppose. Just out of curiosity, what was the password?"

"Take a wild guess."

"Narcissus?"

"Narcissistic."

"Hmm. I was close."

"So close. I kept it in the back of my mind as a contingency plan of sorts."

"I see." Pause. "And where did you find your costume if you never left from your post?"

"The masks were given to us after we bought a ticket. As for the traveling coat... there is no need for you to concern yourself about my methods of procurement."

Ciel nodded his head and asked no further questions. It was none of his business.

It began to rain. Almost immediately, the train moved slower, water running down the windows in thick sheets, glossing over the leaves of the trees outside, darkening them further and making them heavy. An unfamiliar sensation weighted down on Ciel's head suddenly. Green was already so far ahead.

"What if we're too late, Sebastian?" He looked straight at the Butler.

Sebastian smiled reassuringly. "It is never too late, my Lord. You have given me an order. There is no other option but to run them down." The Butler looked straight back at his nervous little master. It always gave him such a pleasure to see the young Earl come alive with that fierce determination of his. What a compelling creature he was, really. Children are so easily molded, their minds as pliable as saplings in spring time, yet the Master hardly faltered in his conviction. Sebastian never failed to remind him of the power he wielded with the Contract. The idea never completely left him.

"You're right," Ciel agreed. "He may have gotten a head start, but he won't be out of my sight forever." Then, in that curious, childish manner that always befell the little man at the most inopportune moments, he yawned sleepily without even covering his mouth. It was then Sebastian noticed the blue circle beginning to form under the Master's eye, which was blinking shut for longer and longer periods of time.

"Hmm. I hate to rain further on this parade," Sebastian said, "but it is well past midnight. It would be best to exit at the next stop and find an inn where you can rest. Besides, I don't think the train is going to travel much further at this hour and in this weather."

Sebastian was correct. The next stop was the final stop and the two could not have been stranded in a more desolate town even if they had tried. Not one carriage could be seen, nor any late night wanderers or patrolling policemen. The street lamps were barely present, flickering and dull as they were. There was a quintessential mist that wrapped itself around the buildings and owl calls sounded out from the foreboding woods. The gate of a nearby graveyard creaked as it swung slightly in the wind.

"At least we remembered to pack an umbrella," Sebastian said.

Ciel shivered. "Where, exactly, do we go now?"

Sebastian pointed ahead. "There is an inn just down that road."

Ciel squinted. "You can read the sign from this far away?"

"Of course."

"Then why have I seen you wearing glasses?"

"Merely an accessory, sir. They help me get into character. I assume you know the feeling by now."

"I'm tired," Ciel grumbled irritably. "Let's hurry up."

"Yes, sir."

The crescent moon sat on the slanted roof of the inn, and was yellow as a yolk. Beneath its eerie glow, the inn was hugged close to night's breast, turning a cold shoulder to neighbouring residencies and businesses. Had it not been for the weak light in the windows, anyone passing by would have assumed that it was abandoned. The Butler opened the front door that was shrunken somewhat from cold for the hesitant Master, and they both let themselves into a shady looking bar.

* * *

***Cockney rhyming slang is a type of "phrase construction" in which a common word is replaced by a rhyming phrase that consists of two or three words. The last two words of the phrase are dropped because they are implied through the rhyme, and the common word is replaced by what remains of the phrase. Confused? Let me give an example: Replace the word "cousin" with the phrase "dime a dozen." Drop the last two words of the phrase, and replace the common word with the remnant of the phrase. Thusly, "cousin" becomes "dime." It's very effective when you're swapping secrets because the only way it can be understood is if you know the topic being discussed, which is how Sebastian was able to understand Samuels and Lynch. So, I challenge you all- should you choose to review, write it out using rhyming slang! I want to see what you all come up with! **


	12. Chapter 12: The Earl, Restless Stop

**Note to the Readers: So. Even though I am flattered by your reviews, as always (and more followers- yay! I recognise a lot of names from Bedeviled :D), I couldn't help but notice that no one tried to use rhyming slang! The challenge still stands... Which one o' you will be rant enough to give it a hue!***

* * *

Ciel and Sebastian walked cautiously into the bar, stepping into what appeared to be a waiting room for an insane asylum. Haggard customers sat alone, scattered at different tables, having one-way mumbled conversations with themselves. One table hosting three customers was especially odd. There was a midget with unnaturally green eyes, an albino wearing a crocodile skin hat and matching gloves and an Asiatic woman so completely covered with tattoos she may as well have been a Chinese tapestry. The only part of her that was not illustrated was her face, and that was ornamented with silver rings stuck through her skin. Though Ciel felt more like himself, head to toe in black and _sans_ clown make up, he was still threatened by the deadpan stares he and his Butler received from the carnie rejects. They walked past the three, past a table on which lay the head of a snoring drunk, past another that sat a gipsy woman with cloudy eyes like crystal balls, and to the barman who looked to be wearing a leather bald cap (but probably wasn't). He stared down the newcomers, openly inspecting them.

Ciel pushed down his shoulders and drew up his head. "Hello. We are in need of overnight lodging."

The barman continued his silent scrutiny.

"... Pardon me?" Ciel asked.

"You two ain't from around these parts, are ye?" The barman's upper lip twitched with a touch of contempt.

"We're passing through," Ciel told him. He did not know why, but he felt unsafe telling the stranger that not only were he and Sebastian Londoners, but they were not even aware of that town's name.

The man sniffed. "Last stop, eh?"

"Yes," Sebastian interjected. "But we will rise with the sun."

"I only have one room available."

The Butler threw a quick look to Ciel. Ciel nodded. "That is perfectly fine," said Sebastian

Pause. "Four shillings."

Sebastian produced exact change from his pocket, not wanting to draw further attention by pulling out the weighty purse of coins that he normally paid with. After counting the money quickly, the barman pocketed it all. Sebastian chuckled. They had probably been overcharged. But no matter. When one has as vast of a fortune as the Phantomhives, one could be overcharged a thousand times and still have more money than anyone could see fit.

The barman smiled at Ciel, his judgmental demeanour much changed. Others in the past had complained about being robbed. But not those two. No, they were the types that had money coming out of their ears, who threw it away like mealy fruit. He enjoyed working with those types. "How about some soup?" he asked the boy. "Warm you up. Put some meat on your bones."

Ciel was about to automatically answer "no" when his stomach contracted painfully. It was very late, but he had not eaten since seven o'clock. Maybe a full belly would help ease him into sleep. "Yes, please," he answered.

"I'll bring that for ya right away. And how about you, tall fellow?"

Sebastian put up a gloved hand. "Nothing for me, thank you."

The barman nodded and walked to the kitchen. Ciel and Sebastian settled at the bar, keeping away from the others. They were too apprehensive even to speak to each other, as it was obvious that the party of three was paying mind to their every move. Ciel had learnt the hard way that in those situations, the smartest thing to do is keep your head down and your tongue still. A small wooden bowl appeared before his lowered eyes.

"Mock turtle," said the barman. "Made it meself just this mornin,'" he added proudly. Sebastian scooped up a small spoonful and swallowed, mulling it over for a moment. He nodded at Ciel and the Young Master dove in hungrily.

The barman laughed. "I don't make a habit of poisoning my customers."

"Just a precaution," the Butler assured. "You understand."

Ciel was pleasantly surprised with his meal. It was quite tasty. Not Sebastian level, but very passable. It was filling and rich and carried heat swiftly through his veins, making him shiver before bringing up his body temperature to that of the bowl's contents.

The barman wiped the bar down. "So, what brings you two gentlemen to this neck of the woods?"

Ciel sipped his soup and did not look up. "Business."

"Business?" chided the barman. "Aren't you a bit young to be concerned about those things?"

"It runs in the family."

"What type of business?"

"Classified."

"Do you think that I would tell?"

"It matters not at all if you would tell. It simply does not concern you."

"Quite a big attitude for such a small body." The tattooed woman had spoken up from her table. Damn. So much for holding his tongue. He had never been very good at that.

Sebastian turned to the Asian and bowed. "Forgive him, miss," he said. "My Master does not mean to sound rude, but our success in this matter hinges on secrecy."

The midget's emerald eyes flew open comically. "Is it a manhunt?"

Ciel and Sebastian were stunned by the little person's accuracy. After he had spoken, his albino companion elbowed him in the arm.

"Icksnay on the oustachemay!" The albino's accent had an American southern drawl.

Ciel's curiosity piqued. "What moustache?"

The albino threw his shiny gloved hands into the air. "Well, see there, now, what you just did?"

The albino and the midget jostled each other roughly while the Asian rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "Always, always with you two being the most obvious bastards in the country!"

Well, there went the intimidation factor. The three carnies argued and fought like child siblings. Then, a thought occurred to Ciel.

"Wait a moment." The three kept on with their bickering. "Pardon." The fighting continued. "Excuse me!" Ciel finally shouted. The trio stopped and turned to face the Earl. "Thank you." He then addressed the little person. "Your perception is impeccable, sir," he complimented. "How was it so obvious to you?"

The little person nodded his head obligingly. "Well, I-"

"Shut UP!" The albino and the Asian shouted. The little person closed his mouth so quickly that it made an audible snapping sound. Ciel looked to Sebastian. The Butler nodded.

"It is obvious," Sebastian began, "that you all know something that may concern us. And honestly, it is a bit hypocritical to be so wary when you are knowingly keeping secrets as well. So. How about we make a little deal." Though he doubted that the carnies could see from where they were sitting, Ciel saw the Butler's pupils contract into slits. "You tell us all about this 'oustachemay,' and we will tell you about our business here." He looked to each of the three as he spoke sweetly. "What do you say?"

The party looked at each other. They shrugged, raised their eyebrows, gestured with their hands, as though communicating through telepathy. For a moment, it almost seemed like they would concede, but they instead shook their heads.

"This is risky business, sir," the albino said. "We don't wanna get in the middle of it."

"But you do acknowledge that there is something to get in the middle of?" Ciel asked.

The albino closed his eyes and surrendered his hands. "Like I said. None of our business."

"But they are on a quest to vanquish Bacchus******." Ciel and Sebastian turned to discover that the ancient gipsy had broken her silence. Regarding her person, she could have been a sloppily made voodoo doll. There were thick black stitches throughout her brown skin and raised white scars along her cheeks and mouth. Her black hair, that was covered with a purple shawl, was curly and thinning, though the individual strands were strangely thick, as though she were wearing a wig made from hemp. Her voice brought to mind images of skeleton trees in empty fields, split and blackened by a bolt of lightning. It scraped up her wrinkled throat like autumn leaves blowing across the cobblestones. "It is Bacchus that you seek, isn't it child?"

The gipsy, who was stood to Ciel's left, had turned to him then. Though her eyes were blind and opaque, Ciel could not help but feel that she was employing some other sense to stare at something beneath his exterior; that infamous Third Eye that he had heard so much about. He retreated closer to the Butler so that their arms were touching. "I-I'm afraid that I do not understand you, ma'am."

"The God of Wine, the God of Theatre, the God of Debauch." Her Eastern accent was so heavy that had he not been listening closely, Ciel would have assumed she was speaking in tongues. The gipsy took in long, even breaths through her nose, the nostrils expanding each time to twice their size. "His stench is strong on you, boy. His sin stains your youthful blush, rots your pretty white flesh."

The barman spoke quietly to keep from startling the elderly clairvoyant. "Gipsy, I think you might be frightening the lad."

The gipsy shook her wiry head. "His is a soul governed by Darkness," she wheezed, "groomed by Evil. He has but two bedfellows: Carnage and Vengeance. But he is pained and pure. His heart is punctured, bleeding, wrapped tight in the coils of that two-headed snake." She spat on the ground. The gob was gelatinous and turbid, spotted with the trademark brown of chewing tobacco.

The barman was about to speak again but Sebastian silenced him with a raised hand. "What do you know of Bacchus, my lady?" he asked.

The woman's fortunes became more crazed. Her eyeballs quivered in their loose sockets. "He escaped with his little satyrs in the belly of an iron python, fueled by the fires of Hell. I can smell the sulphur on the breath of the serpent. Now he rides on the tread of burly hoofed beasts. They snort and slobber as we speak. I can see their clouded breath in the air, hear the earth slipping, sticking, sucking at the wheels. He rides. He and his other half, they ride."

'Other half?' thought Ciel.

"And where do they ride to?" Sebastian asked.

The woman's mouth dropped open to display her dry, pale tongue lolling about behind her crooked bottom teeth. "I see wreckage. I see a charcoaled dwelling not fit even for the dogs who retrieved the blackened bodies. A place to extinguish the fires, to cleanse his satyrs, hide them from peering eyes. I see others. I see orgy. I see Gods of men."

"I think the boy has heard enough," the barman said, oddly defensive.

"That I have," Ciel said. He took a breath and said the barman, "I'm ready to go to bed now."

"Of course, sir," he said. He let himself out from behind the bar using a small swinging door. He brought with him a single lit candle. "I'll show you to your room." Ciel followed closely behind up the stairs. Sebastian brought up the rear, bowing to the assemblage before leaving them forever.

Ciel and Sebastian were lead to room number seven. The barman, who seemed to be the innkeeper as well, produced from his key chain a heavy black key. He gave it to Ciel and sighed.

"I apologise for the scene back there," he said. "The gipsy... she's old and lonely. She just misses telling people's fortunes. She actually used to be really popular 'round here not too long ago."

Ciel put up his hand. "Think nothing of it. What she said made quite a bit of sense."

The innkeeper's face contorted with disbelief. "It did?"

"Well, _I_ made relevant connexions," Ciel said. He turned his head to Sebastian. "What about you?"

"I, too, was able to disentangle her poetic visions," the Butler answered.

The innkeeper looked back and forth between them, his eyebrows sneaking up a bit further each time he did. "Are ye just saying that to look smart or do you honestly understand her?"

"Oh, we understand her," Ciel assured. "But..." He stepped closer and looked up into the innkeeper's face. "A little bit of clarification would be much appreciated."

"Oh, no!" The innkeeper shook his leathery head. "I'm on pasty-facey's side. I'm not getting in the middle of this."

"Would you get in the middle for, say, one pound*******?" Ciel asked.

The innkeeper looked intrigued for a second but quickly pushed the notion away. "Nope. Not for one pound."

"How about two?" Ciel asked without missing a beat.

Again, the man's eyes widened. He shook his head. "My life is worth more than two pound."

"Could it be worth five pound then?"

The man whimpered a bit. After collecting himself, he hardened his face and straightened up. "Like even you carry that much money around."

Ciel snapped his fingers and Sebastian placed in his palm the hefty silk purse. He picked through the gleaming coins and withdrew five freshly minted pounds. The barman stared at the sum for a long time. He hadn't even agreed or disagreed to impart any information before Ciel added another pound to the growing pile. The innkeeper's jaw nearly rested atop of his toes.

"Six pound," Ciel said. "Surely 'Bacchus' did not offer this much."

"He didn't..." the innkeeper trailed off. He continued to deliberate.

"You know," Ciel said, "what the gipsy said was true. We are on a mission to arrest that man. If you comply, you will not need to worry about how much your life is worth. We will take care of him."

Wait for it... wait for it... _wait for it_...

"Ugh, grr, hurr... Fine!" The innkeeper snatched away the coins and shoved them inside his pocket. Sebastian smiled. Ah, who better could manipulate a human's greed than the young man with the eye patch? "I'll tell ya. But you didn't hear it from me."

Ciel rolled his eyes. "Please. I don't even know the name of this town. How would I know you?"

"Alright. Well." The man looked past Sebastian to ensure that no one came walking up the stairs. He took a breath. "Yeah. There was a real dandy fellow with a moustache who blew through here maybe an hour or so before you two showed up. He was in a real tizzy, you know? He stopped in here for a bit of gin and some directions to Manchester."

"I assume he's traveling by carriage at this moment?" Ciel asked. The barman looked confused. "Like I said," Ciel smiled, "I understood the gipsy's words."

"Aye. He and a few other blokes went around town and bought them all. I don't know how much money he shelled out, but it must have been more than enough because not one driver made a stink over his loss. In fact, my old friend Turner down the road did a little dance all the way home."

"Did you happen to see who he was traveling with?" Ciel asked.

"He was with a few lads about your age, maybe a bit older. The other men, big fellas, they were, also had some with them. There were a few more than ten boys altogether, and a few more than five adults."

"And how long did they stop at your inn?"

"Just long enough for a quick drink and a hand drawn map by yours truly. He couldn't have been here for more than ten minutes."

"I see." Ciel brought his curled fingers to his chin in thought. He then looked up at the innkeeper and smiled. "Thank you for your honesty. You are very brave indeed."

"I wouldn't call meself brave," the innkeeper said quietly. He began to trudge away when Sebastian stopped him.

"If you may indulge me," he said. "You said that you were afraid for your life. What did the man say to you that would cause you to feel that way?"

"Well, to be honest, it wasn't anything he said," the man admitted. "He didn't actually say much at all. None of 'em did. In fact, the boys seemed a bit... what's the word... wasted. They could barely hold their heads up and they weren't talking together. I dunno, it was creepy. It was just the way the man looked at me. That and the fact that he bribed me to keep me mouth shut. I have dealt with many strange comers and goers and I have enough life experience to know when a person ain't to be trusted."

"You were very open with us," Ciel pointed out.

The innkeeper shrugged. "Your wallet was very open with me. I don't get much business nowadays."

"I understand."

The leather headed man said, "Alright then. You're all taken care of. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

Ciel shook his head. "That will be all. Good night."

"Good night, milord," he said. He bowed clumsily and took his leave down the stairs. Ciel unlocked the rickety door for himself and the Butler.

Luckily enough, there was a desk at which Sebastian could study while Ciel slept. It sat in front of a small window that was covered by a translucent white curtain. Ciel plopped down on the bed while Sebastian unpacked his nightshirt.

"Well," Ciel began, "I am both thoroughly informed and disturbed."

Sebastian kneeled and began readying the Master for bed. "The gipsy's words did become a tad graphic. But you truly understood her?"

Ciel yawned. "That's what I said."

"How did you interpret her visions?"

"Green had first gotten onto a train, or an iron python as she called it. He deployed all of the carriages, I think, not only to escort the entire company, but to avoid resting which would have given us time to catch up with him. He is now traveling by coach and having a hard time with it in this downpour."

Sebastian smiled. "And to where is he headed in Manchester?"

Ciel thought. "... An abandoned fire house?"

Sebastian looked up at his master. "I construed her premonitions in the same way."

"Yes. All those hours reading Poe have finally paid off. And my teachers told me I was rotting my brain with all of that 'Gothic horror rubbish.'" Ciel turned onto his right side and attempted to become more comfortable. There was a stubborn chill in the air that refused to leave the home it had made in his bones. As he curled himself up into a tight little ball, there fell upon his person a soft black cloth. He turned his head to see that the Butler had laid his tailcoat over his shivering body. "Won't you be cold?" he asked Sebastian.

"Technically, yes," the Butler said, "but I do not experience cold in the same way you do. Also, the last thing we want is for you to run a fever again."

"Ugh, don't remind me." Ciel cuddled down into the pillow, feeling warmer after being enveloped in residual body heat. He sighed and closed his eyes, already so close to sleep.

"Good night, my Lord." Sebastian blew out the candle and wrote by the light of the mustard yellow moon.

* * *

***Common Word: "Brave" Rhyming Phrase: "Rant and Rave." | Common Word: "Try" Rhyming Phrase: "Hue and Cry." So, which one of you will be "brave" enough to give it a "try?"**

****Technically, the Greek name for the God of wine and theatre is Dionysus, but I personally think that name sounds too pretty for Green. Bacchus, the name the Romans used, is grittier sounding, more sleazy. It fits him better.**

*****Just a reminder: Victorian pounds cost about one hundred times less than they're worth today, so Ciel ended up exchanging six hundred pounds for information.**

**I've also decided to put at the end of chapters a little synopsis for the following chapter (if only to remind myself HA!): In the next chapter, symbolic dream sequences and my lame, half-ass attempt at fan service! ... I think it's fan service...? I dunno, I'm not good with that stuff.**


	13. Chapter 13: The Earl, Perchance to Dream

**Note to the Readers: I learned how to service the fans from the manga, so this isn't even an eighteenth as graphic as ninety percent of the stories on this website XD. So, I'm sorry if I got anyone's hopes up with the last chapter's endnote, but I am going to assume that if you read the story this far, you probably don't expect romance from me anyway and hopefully you won't be disappointed! The only reason I called this "fan service" in the first place is because I've never seen Sebastian comfort Ciel using anything but words. Also, a cup of tea to those who can point out the Shakespeare references- should be simple, I always mention the same ones. :P**

* * *

Ciel was stumbling along a splintering floor. His limbs struck the wood with a flat thumping sound. All of his joints were so loose that he could hardly support himself. He threw his arms and legs forward, using the momentum of his shoulders and hips to keep moving. He knew he had to run, but he was unsure if he was running towards something or away from it. Whichever it was, he needed to hurry. His heart ticked like a second hand in the cavity of his tightening chest.

He strutted fretfully along the corridor towards a light that grew in expanse and vibrance by the moment. Ciel did not know what lay beyond, but he knew that it would be different and he was ready for a change. He emerged through the light and shielded his eye with his arm. The door slammed shut behind him.

After a moment, his pupil had contracted into a pinpoint and he was able to see where he had gotten himself to. Directly in front of him was a long row of steel bars. They stood side by side in an infinite line. The ceiling above gradated into nothingness. Laughter could be heard, a squawking murder of crows. Ciel pushed forward and saw a cavern full of people, each one wearing a full face mask of hardened and peeling human skin. Their eyes were not visible in the two hollows where they should have been, but they leaked with blood, sliding down their pelt disguises in sticky, glistening streams. He gasped and stumbled backward. He fell onto his side and, try as he could, he could not stand again. Nor could he call for help. With every second that flew away, another motor skill was lost. He laid there on the ground, paralised and mute. He could hear the crowd pant like dogs.

His wrist twitched. Then the other. His feet jerked up. So did his head. Suddenly, his entire body was yanked into the air. His stomach plummeted from the force and sick burned in his belly before spilling from his loosened mouth. He could feel the bile warm against his chin. The audience clapped daftly. Against his will, his body started up into a satirical jig, his head bobbing forward and backward, side to side. As his face fell back, he could see the distant figure of the puppeteer in the darkness. His eyes were ink wells above a pristine moustache and a wide grimace. His teeth bore down and reflected Ciel's ball-jointed image like porcelain mirrors. Ciel's block of a jaw unhinged and he was finally able to let out a scream.

-}%{-

Sebastian sat scribbling in his journal (what does a demon pen, I wonder? Recipe revisions, inner most thoughts, plans for world damnation or the like?) when there arose from the Young Master a pained moan, such as the fatally wounded would make. He turned to see the boy kicking his legs, the tailcoat he had been given resting in a twisted bundle at his feet. The Butler stood and walked over to his sleeping master. His brow was pointed, his small mouth half open. There were drops of perspiration on his forehead. Sebastian wondered if he should awaken him, but decided against it. Instead, he sat on the edge of the bed and placed his hand on the Master's twitching shoulder. Very gently he passed his hand upwards and downwards in a steady repetition, as he would pet one of his feline companions. There had been many a time when one of the furry creatures would be having a fitful slumber and Sebastian had coaxed them back into a state of relaxation without once rousing them. Surely humans were not dissimilar.

-}%{-

Ciel's screams ricocheted off of the walls that he could not see. To his amazement, the audience retreated in fear. They huddled close together and looked about them rapidly. Following his intuition, Ciel let out another roar and enjoyed watching the people scatter like rabbits under the shadow of a hawk.

-}%{-

The Master groaned again and shifted further away. After noticing that he was shaking much less violently, Sebastian continued on his back, using more of a circular motion.

-}%{-

Soon, the audience had vanished entirely. They evaporated into mist, leaving behind nothing but a few droplets of blood on the floor. The strings that held Ciel in the air were no longer jerking him about, but rather swayed uncertainly, considering their next move. Ciel out thought them and propelled his body downwards. He felt the puppet master above lurch with him. Though he did not touch the ground after his first attempt, he did come close. Again, Ciel thrust himself down and he could touch the floor with the tips of his toes. Using one more push of strength, he was finally able to touch down completely. He had even gained command over his body again and was able to move without the aid of the puppeteer. The strings, however, were still laced through his skin. He looked up and saw them leading into the darkness. Maybe... He gathered the strings together in both hands and tugged roughly. Something above gave just a bit. Ciel pulled again and kept pulling, all his might going into the effort, every muscle aching, his body shaking from exertion, when finally the puppeteer above was beaten and fell spread-eagle through the air.

Ciel hurried out of the way and hid his eye to avoid witnessing the body being obliterated into bloody chunks. But what he heard after the collision was not the smacking of flesh and organs but a brittle clattering, more akin to a pile of dusty bones being disturbed. Ciel looked over at the fallen puppet master, at his ball-jointed knees and elbows, his stiff immobile fingers, the shiny black hair that had been painted on his oversized head. Ciel wandered over to him and kneeled down, noticing that his own joints were no longer wooden, but made from sinews and cartilage and tissue. He turned the poppet's head so that he could see the face. It was fractured like a window that had been hit by hail, multiple circles, one within another, connected by spider thread cracks. From his mouth dripped thick red paint. It sunk into the pores of his wooden face and stained the ground upon which he lay.

A clicking sound was heard behind Ciel. Then the sliding of a bolt, followed by the clinking of a chain. Finally, a key was turned in a lock and the door that shut him in had been opened. He stood easily and walked away from the bloody stage and into the warm light beyond the doorway.

-}%{-

Eventually, the Young Master's breathing was calmed. He had stopped groaning and his face relaxed. Sebastian continued rubbing his back for a short time to be positive that the nightmare had been thwarted. As suspected, the Master did not fuss again. The Butler stopped petting him and removed from the pocket of his tailcoat a handkerchief that he may wipe the sweat from his brow. He pulled his coat up over Ciel's shoulders and the boy snuggled down into the pillow once more. Sebastian laughed. The Master was hardly recognisable when he was being so docile. He then stood from the bed and sat back down at the desk to continue his writings.

* * *

**In the next chapter, that "heart to heart" about Narcissus between the Young Master and his Butler that I mentioned would be happening back in chapter... ten, I think it was. Until then, have a happy and safe holiday! And good luck to those of you taking your exams. Which, p.s., stop procrastinating and get back to studying! :P**


	14. Chapter 14: The Butler, Heart to Heart

**Note to the Readers: And we're back! I hope you all had a good holiday. Mine was very enjoyable, excepting work stress. The scariest place to work during the holidays, besides retail, is in a bakery. I barely survived O_o. But, anyway. Here it is! The heart to heart. I hate asking for reviews, really I do. I normally feel that if you have something to say, that's lovely, I enjoy entertaining you and exchanging messages with you all. However, if you don't have anything to say, that's okay, too. I definitely do not hold anything against the silent observer. I myself was the same way for two years before I decided to make an account.**

**BUT. **

**But. I am putting an _embarrassingly stupid_ amount of effort into this story. As I've said before (mini rant coming up, get ready), even though it's all fictional, the story of Narcissus is very personal to me, having been called nasty things because I would rather be alone than "give someone a chance." Since they were _so_ _nice_, I was obligated to hand myself over to them, because all I'm good for is sexy time favours. That was the only thing they were after in the first place. And I know I can't be the only one who's dealt with others' entitled nonsense. And going back to the "romanticised suffering" surrounding the legend, Ciel dealt with it himself when confronted by Baron Kelvin's obsession with him, his encounters with the Viscount, and we all know how excited the occultists were to sacrifice the Phantomhive boy. It's a theme in his life, too. In summation, this is a story about things that are seen as romantic or beautiful when they clearly are not... among other things. I hope I'm making sense. The season has left me very scatter brained. Not trying to throw myself a pity party or pretending to be super deep, but it would really be interesting to read what all of you have to say about this, whether you agree or disagree. Read on, lovelies- IF YOU DARE. _/end melodrama_**

* * *

The barkeep was already awake at dawn, purple circles under his eyes and his body turned expectantly towards the stairs.

"You're awake very early," Sebastian commented.

"Yes. I just wanted to see my two best customers out," the barkeep smiled.

Ciel yawned. "Thank you again for your hospitality. Your words have been very beneficial to us. But, just so we understand each other," he added with a side glance, "we never asked you about anything."

"Not a single thing," said the barkeep, shaking his head.

Ciel nodded. "We'll be on our way then. Good bye."

"Good bye and good travels." The barkeep watched the mysterious duo walk out the door, still feeling the weight of his payment in his trouser pocket. He normally would have blessed a traveler's journey, but he kept the prayer to himself. Something told him that those two were not the types who would appreciate such language.

The world all around the Earl and his Butler was only just beginning to lift itself from sleep. Birds hopped out onto bare branches to shake their feathers free of dew and the sun peeped out from behind the anemic rain clouds. Its light was humble and warm and Ciel lifted his face to it with closed eyes.

There were only three other men besides Ciel and Sebastian who were boarding the train for Manchester. Again, Ciel purchased two luxury compartment tickets for himself and his Butler. The conductor gave a strange look but Ciel paid no mind. The opinion of others amounted to little more than nothing. Once the train was moving at a steady speed, a stewardess brought to them a breakfast trolley which carried a variety of English morning delights: scones, crumpets, ham, sausage, eggs, hot cereals, black tea, strong coffee, etc. The perks of the luxury seating. Ciel chose for himself a traditional full breakfast with a cup of bold Keemun. After the stewardess had left and Ciel started into his meal, the Butler asked a question. It was:

"How did you sleep?"

Ciel shrugged and did not lift his head. "Fine. Why do you ask?"

"You seemed to be having a nightmare." It was then that the Young Master looked up at Sebastian. "You were kicking your legs and moaning."

"Oh." Ciel started back at his meal again. "I did have a bit of a bad dream but it didn't last all night."

"Good." There were many questions that Sebastian wanted to ask his master, but it would be impolite to interrupt his mealtime. He waited patiently until the boy had cleaned his plates before posing the questions. "Young Master," he began, "I hate to bring up sore memories, but I was curious to learn about your experience as Narcissus."

"I figured you would." Ciel shrugged. "I actually found it strange that you didn't ask me sooner."

"I wanted to give you ample time to regroup."

"What would you like to know?"

"Everything, sir. If it would not be intrusive of me to ask."

"It wouldn't be. I just give need a place to start."

"You told me not to accept drinks from Green. Why is that exactly?"

Ciel started from the beginning, at the poisonous tea part as hosted by Bacchus and Quasimodo. He told the Butler about meeting Abrahm and the quadruple locked doors and the portion controlled meals. He told him about the slave labour and his pantomiming lessons with the spineless Harrison. As for the show itself, the ridiculous costumes (or lack thereof), the poppet make up, the fetishised sadness, the crowded cages, Sebastian already knew about those things. It took a very dark matter to disturb the Butler, but Ciel could tell by the way his mouth tightened into a straight line and the slight decline in his eyebrows that the business of the Exhibition left him feeling very uneasy.

"I see..." Sebastian sounded as if he were talking to himself. "I apologise, my Lord. It was never my intention to put you through such a degrading ordeal." He cast his eyes downward and folded his hands stiffly over one another.

The sighing of the train's engine occupied the respite.

"Well." Ciel leaned his elbow against the window, his head in his palm. He gazed out the glass at the rapidly passing hills. "I could have called you at any point but I chose not to. Our curiosities got the better of us."

"Do I have your forgiveness?" Sebastian asked.

"Hmm... I suppose so."

Sebastian bowed his head. "I give you my sincere gratitude, my Lord."

There was another short span of quiet before the Butler proceeded with his queries. "It may seem obvious, but I would like to hear you explain it more clearly. What do you make of all this? Not only the exhibit, but the idea of Narcissus being a figure of desire. Or, to use your own words, to make a 'peep show' of his suffering?"

"I think it is absolutely disgusting," Ciel said without hesitation. "I fail to see the 'beauty' or the 'lesson' in it. Think on the very basic core of story. Narcissus is punished because he doesn't feel the drive to be anyone's lover... and? What business is that to anyone else? Oh, boo hoo, he doesn't want to bang you. So make an example of him? He was cursed in such a way that it would bring about his demise. He was killed for doing absolutely nothing wrong. He may have been arrogant and proud, but what does it really matter? Let him live his life the way he wants to: Alone. He does not owe it to anybody to be their pretty plaything. Mister Harrison told me that it is a 'cautionary tale' of arrogance and self-indulgence. But the punishment is disproportionate to the crime. The only real criminals in that case were Nemesis and the spiteful bastard who summoned her. If anything, it is a warning about the entitlement of others. Be careful who you offend! Because if you refuse to give them something that they want, they will stop at nothing, _nothing_, to destroy you and they will delight in your downfall. And then what? Everyone is so sad, so heartbroken that Narcissus is dead. And why? Because he was _so beautiful_. That's all the boy was. He was a commodity for his physical attributes. The only reason they cared to know him is because they wanted to possess his beauty, much like a parvenu may keep a bird of paradise as a pet. On that basis alone, that doesn't make his potential suitors any less vain or superficial than he was. His sacrifice is then made all the more tragic and erotic because of his comely face. The whole thing is despicable and it makes my skin crawl and it must be stopped!"*****

In his fit, Ciel had knocked the empty plate off of the small standing table and onto the floor. Sebastian felt another pang of guilt as he picked it up. He had figured that the Master would identify with the plight of Narcissus, but he had not done very much to protect him from the stress that could put on his psyche. "I did not mean to upset you, sir," he apologised once more. He set the plate back on the table. "I only wanted to understand things from your point of view."

Ciel took a breath to compose himself before asking, "What is your opinion on it?"

Sebastian took his seat across from the Master again. "I honestly do not have anything to add. I only think that it makes it all the more obvious that humans wrote those stories for only they would feel entitled enough to lay claim to a stranger's affections."

"What do you make of the victim aspect of it?"

Sebastian tilted his head. "Victim?"

"Yes. In the exhibit, we were meant to depict his death, not any event leading up to it. We focused specifically on the moment when he fell in love with his reflection and how he met his doom. On top of that, we had all been kidnapped, caged and dressed very provocatively. What are your thoughts on that?"

Sebastian brought a loose fist under his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm... There is a certain type of alluring quality that fragility holds. There is something inherently pretty about it. Like a lone rosebud in the snow. How is it that such a tiny, frail thing can survive in so harsh of a condition? The duality of that is very sensual. There is also a kind of innocence surrounding Narcissus, and perhaps it is because of the lack of crime committed by him in the legend that makes him all the more appealing. Innocent 'victims,' as you say, are so delicate and easily overpowered. But, mostly, I believe that humans simply enjoy the fantasy aspect. Just imagine: a water nymph and a river god. What a breathtaking beauty he must have been."

Ciel meditated on the Butler's answers, engaged in his theories. It wasn't often that they shared informal conversation. It was surprisingly enjoyable. "Do you think he deserved his punishment?"

"After hearing your argument, no. Before, if I am being honest, I did not give it a single thought. But now, I do feel that a curse may have been a bit excessive, as Greek mythology tends to be. So Narcissus would not have loved me. No skin off of my nose."

Ciel chuckled a bit. "Are you saying that you are in love with Narcissus?"

Sebastian smiled. "No. I am merely transporting myself into the story to illustrate a point."

Ciel rolled his eyes. "Sure." He knew Sebastian wasn't lying, of course, but it was fun to tease him anyway. Silence filled the compartment again. "How much longer to Manchester?" Ciel asked.

"Due to slippery rails, I would approximate two hours."

Ciel's head fell back against the cushioned seat. "Ugh! Green is so far ahead!"

"Think of it this way," the Butler consoled. "We know that he is headed to a specific location. Once he is there, he will not be going any further. And perhaps he thinks that he has already lost us. He might not even expect that we are still trailing him."

"I don't know, Sebastian. You heard what Samuels told him about us. I think he may be more clever than you give him credit for. He must have something up his fancy sleeve."

"Come to think of it," Sebastian said, "there has not been much done in terms of roadblocks. If he had stopped at the inn, I would think that he would have hired a few _goons_ to detour us. Bribing the innkeeper and his patrons would not be reassuring enough."

"No, it wouldn't be," Ciel brooded aloud. "Once we arrive in Manchester we better be on our toes. I have the feeling that if he's already established ties there the city will be crawling with spies." They nodded at each other in agreement.

Some time passed in comfortable quiet. Sebastian read the headlining stories in the paper while Ciel read the business section. Always good to know how Funtom stocks were holding up outside of London. They were on a steady high, as always. Ciel folded up the paper and set it down.

"I'm going to use the facilities," he announced. He walked to the sliding door and turned back to Sebastian saying, "This time around, if I am gone for an inordinate amount of time, please do come fetch me."

The Butler answered with a balance of amusement and annoyance. "Yes, my Lord."

On his way to the loo, Ciel came across a smartly dressed young man who looked to be in his mid twenties. He stood still for a moment, staring at Ciel as though trying to put a name to the face.

Ciel stepped aside. "Pardon me, sir," he said. He waved his hand in the direction that the man had been walking as a signal that he should move first.

"Quite alright, boy," the man said. He walked past Ciel, looking down at him quickly before moving on. Ciel brushed off the nosy man's looks and let himself into the facilities.

On the way back to his seat, Ciel heard someone step out from an empty compartment just behind him and felt the nudge of something cold and hard against the small of his back. Judging by the rounded feel of it, it was the tip of a pistol's barrel.

The voice belonging to the pistol's wielder said, "You will come very quietly, alright?"

"Alright," said Ciel.

"And there will be no need to call for that butler."

"No need at all."

"Good boy. Come with me." He took hold of Ciel's shoulder and led him in the opposite direction of his compartment. The man, who must have been the one Ciel had run into earlier, walked very closely behind him to be sure that the pistol would be hidden from anyone who might go walking by. He led Ciel into the next train and stopped him in front of the first door on his right. It was not as grand as the luxury train, but still reserved for the well to do and so was thusly unpeopled. The man slid open the door and urged Ciel gently inside.

* * *

***I could go on and on, but that's enough pretentious pontification for today. I really hope that I don't sound conceited or anything when I explain concepts in this story. I don't even know why I feel the need to put so much work into it. It's just... moving on, Silvia. _Moving on_****.**

**IN THE NEXT CHAPTER:**

**Ciel is interrogated by some of Green's goons. He then has a little brush with certain death and Sebastian saves the day LIKE A BAWS (or not)... or something. (See what I did there? ^_^) **


	15. Chapter 15: The Earl, Interrogation

**So, though I still stand by it, I think that last author note might have been a bit over the top. I have the terrible habit of taking myself too seriously sometimes. I would hate to make this story inaccessible because it's up its own butt with messages and metaphors HA! It's just a story and I apologise for being so stern. But you know how it is when you have the Feels after going through some stuff, right? Right. Keeping calm and carrying on. :)**

* * *

In the compartment sat two sprucely dressed gentlemen closer to Green's age, perhaps early to mid forties. They dipped sweet curry biscuits into malty Assam tea and looked Ciel over with lazy half-hooded eyes.

"Please," said the dandy who Ciel had run into earlier, "have a seat." Ciel sat himself on the only available spot next to the man wearing a grey silk tie. The youngest, whom Ciel had decided to refer to as Twenty-five, locked the sliding door and sat opposite him. He crossed his long legs and smiled a very practiced smile. In fact, every motion he made was well rehearsed. The delicate folding of his slender hands, his measured gazes. Even the words he used to address Ciel with sounded like they were recited from memory. "Would you like a cup of tea? Perhaps a biscuit?"

Though tempted by their piquant aroma, Ciel shook his head. "No, thank you," he declined. "I do not to accept refreshments from strangers."

"Oh! Alright then. If you insist." Twenty-five took up the tea cup from the tray beside him and sipped with so much pomp, pinkie finger extended, that it was difficult for Ciel to figure his sincerity. He took a second to survey the other two fellows, their same supercilious manner of pretending to ignore him. He knew their types too well. Those who would laze about in cigar lounges or hookah bars and dwindle away their lives gossiping about others as idle as they, while racking up their credit buying peacock attire and baroque fashion furniture. The kind who had their entire savings at their constant disposal with nothing better to do and no means to entertain themselves- because exercising their minds was simply out of the question and they had been to every show and bar and ball at least four times. The types that Ciel avoided like the Plague. Yes, he could see why they would be Green's primary audience, what with their constant drive to find something exotic to amuse themselves. "So," Twenty-five continued, "would I be correct in assuming that you know why I brought you here?"

"You might be," Ciel said. He sat straight, his neck long, his shoulders down. "You are associates of David. Though I must profess a bit of ignorance. How did you know that I would be on this train?"

"We three were in attendance the night you pulled that little trick in the Exhibit," said Twenty-five. "Because of the long history between us all, we assisted David in escorting the actors as far away from you as we could." Twenty-five's face was continually animated. At no point were any one of his features still. His voice, too, danced around in pitch and was strained with so much unnecessary emphasis. If he was ever an actor, he was not a very convincing one. "We rode the train as far as it would travel, which turned out to be not a very great distance at all, no. Once in that dinky little town, we were ordered to stay on the look out for you and your immaculate butler. From across the way, we saw you two leaving the inn. We followed but I, of course, had to be sure who you were before I stole you away." He chuckled at that last.

"Hold on just a moment," said the man holding a red tea cup who was sat beside Twenty-five. "Is this he..." He inspected Ciel closely until his eyelids lifted slightly. "Yes, he is! The infamous Phantomhive, Watchdog of the Queen. I have heard a lot about you."

"Have you?" Ciel frowned. "I'm sorry, I can't say the same."

Red Tea Cup scowled through a smile. "Well, some of us like to keep our business more of a secret."

"I consider my business incredibly secretive, sir, for the people who know me by that title are the only ones who should be concerned."

Twenty-five burst out with a laugh and slapped his knee. "Ha! David did mention that you were quite the silver-tongued little imp. It is a shame that you are not an actor. You would have made an excellent Narcissus."

Ciel shrugged. "That type of attention just didn't float my boat, I suppose. Also, it was never a part of my agenda to become an actor."

"So I've heard!" Twenty-five bit his lip. "So. I. Have. Heard. You only meant to find Richard. Well. Tell you what." He leaned forward and placed his forearms on his thighs. "David is prepared to make a deal with you. He will give you Richard, no more running away, if you agree to return to London and leave him to his production."

Ciel sighed. He was in no mood to humour stupid bargains. "That is an impossibility. I have been told not only to rescue Richard, but to bring to justice the one who exploited him and the others."

Grey Silk Tie's soggy biscuit bespeckled moustache bristled as he spoke. "Perhaps think on it. Don't be so hasty."

"Yes! Do think!" Twenty-five urged. "There is a very ample sum in it for you if you cooperate."

Ciel didn't even bother to slight his laughter. He could play that game with others, but he would _never_ be the one tempted by petty coins. "I am an Earl. A Nobleman. My family's fortune far exceeds a number than David ever even thought attainable. There is no amount of money that could convince me to change my mind."

Twenty-five's face remained bright as the matter grew dark. "Do you value your life then?"

"Very much so," Ciel answered unfased. "And so do many others."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Do you think that you could kill me without facing any consequences? I am not some nameless peasant whose throat you could simply slit and whose body you could toss into a ditch in the woods. I am the Watchdog of the Underworld. A hellhound, if you will. I am Cerberus." He smiled at his allusion in spite of the violent turn in things. "I thought you all might enjoy that reference, what with your fondness for Greek mythology."

Red Tea Cup suddenly became very agitated. He set his cup down with a loud clank. "I would watch my mouth if I were you, child."

"Well, you are not me and I wouldn't, so-"

Red Tea Cup began to stand. "Why you little-"

"Now, now, no need for all this bickering!" Twenty-five intervened. "Surely we can come to an agreement like gentlemen!"

"I am afraid that I have made it my singular goal to recover Richard and put an end to this show."

Grey Silk Tie spoke flatly. "Oh, so you want to terminate the entire Exhibition now?"

"Is there a reason to allow it to continue?"

Twenty-five looked terribly distraught. "Did you truly find it to be so distasteful?"

"Yes, in fact. It left a _very_ bad taste in my mouth."

"I didn't think that it was so bad when I performed within it."

"Well, talk to me when- hold on." Ciel stared at Twenty-five with wide eyes. He had lifted a hand to his mouth and laughed silently, privy to a joke that Ciel was missing. "You... you were a member of the Exhibition?"

"That I was!" came his jovial confession. "From the time I was fifteen until I was eighteen. I was the first member of the original cast, I'll have you know." Ciel looked towards the other two but Twenty-five snorted rudely. "They definitely were not members at any point. They are lacking both in youth _and_ beauty."

"We are but faithful patrons," said Red Tea Cup.

"Been so for nearly a decade now," said Grey Silk Tie.

"But I was told..." Ciel hated to stall with his words for doing so betrays a weakness. "... That the boys past eighteen were..."

The men leaned towards him all at once, the energy in the small compartment suddenly very palpable. They _wanted_ to hear him say it. It was in that moment that Ciel realised what really made the actors imitate Narcissus. More than their handsome forms. More than costumes and carmine. More than polished prisons. What made them Narcissus was that they all, aside from a choice few, died young. Their tragic ends were what made them the most beautiful. Ciel felt an unwelcome strain behind his eyes, a closing of his throat. He wouldn't say it. He would not say it.

"... That they were what, my boy?" asked Grey Silk Tie.

"That they were sold," Ciel finished. The three leaned back with a heavy breath. Ciel felt a slight rush of victory. He would not be the one to make murder voyeuristic.

"Some are," Twenty-five answered, his disappointment poorly hidden. "I was. To this one." He gestured to Red Tea Cup, who smirked to himself and readjusted in his seat. The smile Ciel received was tainted with corruption. He didn't want to know anymore. He felt filthy just sharing the same space. "It's a shame that you feel so strongly about this," Twenty-five languished. "It really can be a beautiful experience." Again, Ciel was unsure if Twenty-five was putting on a front. He supposed that by that standard, maybe he was a good actor. "Is there honestly nothing we can do to change your mind?"

"My mind had been made up days ago."

The company of three looked at each other with an unnatural calm. They shrugged together.

"Well, Phantomhive," said Twenty-five, "I think we might just take our chances with consequence of your death."

All at once, the three stood straight up with such vivacity that it quite startled Ciel. He made for the door, but Twenty-five came in front of him while the other two closed in on either side.

"Sebas-UGH!" Ciel attempted to call for help, but a grey silk tie had been wrapped tightly between his opened lips.

"Now, now, what did we talk about earlier?" Twenty-five shook his finger at Ciel while removing his own neck tie. "You are not to call for your butler!"

Red Tea Cup and the man who was then without a Grey Silk Tie clenched Ciel's arms so aggressively that he could already feel the blood vessels breaking beneath his skin. Twenty-five walked behind him and used his tie to bind Ciel's kicking feet tightly. From the corner of his good eye, Ciel saw Twenty-five remove Red Tea Cup's ascot so that he could secure his hands behind his back. The men turned Ciel away from the door then so that he could watch Twenty-five open the sliding window. In the distance stood two mountains with a small gap between them. The tops of the trees close to the train appeared to be losing height. There was a quick rushing sound mingling with the howling wind. The signs all pointed to an approaching bridge straddling an approaching river.

"It looks like you'll be drowning!" Twenty-five smiled. "How fitting!" He then walked over to Ciel and paused after looking at his hands. "But, oh, what is this? Such a pretty sapphire! I would hate for it to be lost forever..." His fingers made to touch the heirloom but Ciel wriggled madly and growled like a feral dog. Twenty-five put up his hands. "You're right, you're right! As a last request, you can keep it. It better suits your icy winter beauty anyway. I'm more of an autumn myself." He then pinched Ciel's cheek insolently. "Goodbye, sweet little Phantomhive."

With such mockery as Ciel had never witnessed in his life, the men on either side of him with Twenty-five holding his legs, gave three practice swings towards the window, counting out loud as they did so, before hurling Ciel out into the air. For a moment he felt weightless. What a sensation it was, to be suspended so high above the Earth, neither rising nor falling, but gliding along some unseen axis. The ties about his head came undone and his eye patch was whisked away, a black butterfly fluttering wildly in the wind. According to gravity, though, what goes up must come down, and Ciel was supported by only that moment before came the plunge into the glittering river below.

Unless...

A pair of large hands were to hook themselves underneath his arms and pull him easily through the air as if he were nothing more than a small pouch of feather down, and not a growing boy thrown from the window of a train traveling at maximum speed. He was wrapped tight in strong arms and pulled close as he was sat on the Butler's lap.

Sebastian smiled as he normally did, outwardly ignoring the fact that he had just prevented Ciel from falling to his death. "Hullo, Young Master." His black tresses whipped around his head making him look like a crow rustling its feathers. Ciel stared at him, unable to speak due to the silk gag. "You ordered me that if you were gone for too lengthy a period of time that I should come collect you. So, here I am."

"Where in the hell did he go?"

Angry voices from below carried up into the whistling wind.

"Did you see him fall?"

"He just floated up into the air!"

"What? No. That's impossible!"

"Shall we prove to them that you indeed ascended, my Lord?" Though Sebastian asked a question, he did not wait for an answer. Holding Ciel close to his chest in firm embrace, he leaned them both slightly over the edge, just enough that the men below could see their faces. They looked up at that very moment and their expressions twisted into ugly shock.

"It can't be!"

"How is he able to stay so still?"

"Surely he should be blown away!"

Those and a dozen more questions poured out of the compartment as Sebastian leaned back. He began to crawl up the length of the train, keeping Ciel huddled against him. Ciel felt his chest pulse with a soundless chuckle. He had always been one to take pleasure in toying with humans' perception of reality.

At a point, Sebastian let himself hang over the side of the train before propelling them both into their shared compartment using a graceful swinging of his legs. When inside, Sebastian set the Master down on a seat and closed the window. Ciel's ears whined with tinnitus before they adjusted to the quiet. The Butler kneeled before him and freed his ankles, then wrapped his arms around to untie his bound wrists. For some reason, though, Ciel felt that he was pausing with the undoing of the gag. After a moment, Sebastian released his mouth of the tie.

"Do you really dislike my talking so much that you would have me gagged for so long?" Ciel demanded to know.

"Not at all, sir," Sebastian said. "I was only anxious that you would reprimand me for saving you in such a dangerous fashion."

"I don't think that I was in a place to choose my preferred method of recovery," Ciel said. Though somewhat shaken, Ciel was so accustom to flirting with death that the recent assault left him feeling less frightened and more homicidal. "Well?" He glared at the Butler. "Are you just going to kneel there? What are you waiting for?"

Sebastian smiled fiendishly. "I am waiting for your order, sir."

Ciel looked into the Butler's garnet eyes, feeling the heat from the exposed Seal slowly mounting. "Sebastian, I command you: Leave not a single one alive."

Sebastian bowed gratefully with a hand over his heart, forever eager to appease his Master's vengeful whims. "Yes, my Lord."

* * *

**In the next chapter, Sebastian kicks some ass.**

**Have a happy New Year, everyone! Be safe and don't get too crazy!**


	16. Chapter 16: The Butler, Assassin

Sebastian scaled the side of the train again so that he could sit upon the roof to allow himself time to think. If he had stepped out into the hallway, he would run the risk of immediately exposing himself to the enemy. Plus, perching atop of a rapidly moving machine while listening closely for the heartbeats of his victims below seemed appropriate somehow. He leaned over and put his ear to the cold iron to listen for the distressed pumping of their vital organs. He could practically feel the heat of their blood through the roof of the car, taste their perturbation on the tip of his tongue. Oh, yes, they were very angry. How dare that little brat make a fool of them? He will pay!

Oh, will he?

With a keen ear, Sebastian heard the party of three break away from each other. Fools! Have they not heard of the phrase "safety in numbers?" Ah. It looked like that particular mission was not going to be much of a challenge. But, if anything, that leaves more room to change the rules! And game changers always make things more interesting. But the edict that should never be compromised, no matter what the situation, was that the clean up must be done silently. Though the Master does not allow the enemy to walk away scot-free, there was no reason to cause a scene. Sebastian took a moment to run through a handful of battle strategies before letting himself into the compartment that the three had abandoned. Sliding open the door quietly, he followed his nose to the one who was closest.

He was an older man with a grey moustache and a round belly that belied an overconsumption of alcohol. Sebastian could hear his lungs shiver with the labour of his movement as he crept closely behind him. Snapping his neck seemed almost unfair, since he was completely unawares. And games are no fun at all without a bit of competition. Sebastian cleared his throat.

"Begging your pardon, sir," he announced. The man whipped around with blazing eyes to stare at the assassin who had addressed him so politely. "Excuse me for sneaking up on you, but I thought we-"

The man cut him off with a savage growl and sprang at Sebastian's throat. So much for playing fair. Sebastian caught the man's wrists in his large hands and gave them a sharp upward flick. There was an instant cracking noise and the wrists became like rubber in the Butler's palms. The man was too shocked to cry out, but he did snivel a little bit and sink to his knees.

"Oh, no, no, no." Sebastian smiled down at his prey. "This sort of barbaric behaviour will simply not do." He threw down the broken wrists and pulled the man up off the floor and into the air by the lapels of his coat. "What do you have to say for your ghastly actions towards my Young Master?"

Just a moment ago, the grey man had seemed nothing short of murderous, but presently he hung from Sebastian's grip like a child who had been caught sneaking sweets before supper.

"Forgive me," he pleaded meekly.

Tut-tut. The man knew that he was in the hands of Death and _that_ was all he had to say for himself?

"No," Sebastian said. He shook the man effortlessly, once backwards and once forwards so that his neck had been broken using nothing but the weight of his thick head. Sebastian admired the limp body still teeming with the heat that terror produces. Never once in that man's life would he have figured that he was so delicate. But the Butler knew from delicious experience that all these fleshy little minions are the same. Quietly, gently, Sebastian walked with the corpse back to its seat. He sat it upright and straightened its coat. One down, two to go.

Target number two was close in age to the first victim and Sebastian stalked him in much the same way. Should he even bother with that one? Or would he be as witless as his deceased friend?

"I feel you sneaking around back there," the man said.

Sebastian smiled. Hooray! Time for a little fun. "I commend your acute senses, sir," he said.

The man turned and Sebastian could see that his cheeks were reddened by rosacea. "What exactly were you planning on doing, Butler?" he asked.

Sebastian shrugged. "To be honest, I did not have anything specific planned. I thought it might be more interesting if you and I were to have a little chat."

The man laughed heartily. "For what reason? That we may discuss how you and your pretty little Lord are not exiting this train alive?"

Sebastian closed his eyes and sighed. And for a moment he had believed that the man was more cunning than the first. But he was worse than a twit. He was an egotistical buffoon. What a hapless admission.

"Let us skip the conversation then," Sebastian said.

"Sounds good to me," said the man. He pulled a pistol from his coat and pointed it at Sebastian. "Standing out in the hallway like this is a bit tactless, however," he smiled. "Why don't we take a walk back to my compartment?"

Sebastian fought back a grin. "If you insist." The Butler allowed the reddened man to direct him back to the tomb.

Outside of the door, Sebastian could already smell the decay, the dead organs only just starting to turn. He had not foreseen the ruddy pistol carrier discovering his companion in the midst of decomposition. Maybe this would be more entertaining than he thought. Once inside the compartment, Sebastian stepped to the side so that his height would not obscure the view of the corpse.

At first, the living man was confused. "James, what are you..." As the realisation dawned on him, the pistol was slowly lowered. Sebastian took the moment to snap the man's neck much like he had done to the other. Except that time he employed his favourite method, that being lifting up the man's head and quickly turning it to the side. Another satisfying crack, another body down. As he did with the first corpse, Sebastian arranged the newly deceased in a sitting position. Was there a reason for the ritual, you ask? Not particularly. But there was something hilariously ironic about it. He again closed the sliding door and sought out the third.

He found him outside of his Young Master's compartment. Luckily, the Master had been wise enough to lock the door in the Butler's absence. The third, who was not so surprisingly much younger than the others, stood knocking at it.

"Come now, Phantomhive," he cooed. "Listen. I know what just conspired was awful. To be entirely honest, it was not my idea at all. Promise! I am merely a victim, just like you. Bought and sold like a mass-produced plaything. You have no idea the types of disgusting things I was made to do... I simply cannot bear to think on it. So, please. Find it in your heart to open the door so that we can share an honest discussion. I swear to God that I will not harm you."

"Those kind of words will not work on him, I am afraid," Sebastian said. The young man jumped in his spot and turned. He was very handsome, but a hint of degeneracy stained his face like invisible ink.

"Ah," he said. His equanimity might have been convincing had it not been for the tremolo in his voice. "You're the Butler."

Sebastian bowed. "That I am."

"Did you hear everything I said just now?"

"Yes, I did."

"Then perhaps you would be able to show me mercy." The young man pulled a pistol from his coat and laid it on the ground in front of him. He proceeded to take one step backwards with both hands in the air. "I am not going to harm you or your master. I promise. Like I was telling him, I never wanted to in the first place. But," he added pointedly with his face towards the Master's compartment, "he knows that David is not a man to be disobeyed."

"Neither is my Master," Sebastian said.

The young man's green eyes widened and he fell to his knees. He cupped his hands together under his chin in prayer. "Please," he begged, "I was only following orders. Perhaps if you let me speak with him, we can talk this over."

"... You threw him out a window."

"I know, I know!" The young man flinched with remorse. "But he must understand! One does what one must in order to survive."

Sebastian paused. It was true. No matter how much they like to prattle on about humanity and moral compass, humans have no trouble whatsoever slaying their neighbour if it means extending their own ephemeral existence. If anyone could understand that sentiment, it would be the Young Master.

"I beg you," the young man continued, "just a quick word. Should he decide to be rid of me... I suppose that I will just have to accept my fate. But if there is even the slightest chance that he may sympathise with me, I will forever be in his debt."

Sebastian considered. One last chance to make things interesting. He removed his watch from his breast pocket and exposed its face. There were still twenty minutes until they arrived in Manchester.

"Alright, sir," Sebastian said. "I shall ask my Master if he would speak with you."

The young man beamed. "Oh, my good man!" he exclaimed. "To bestow upon me such kindness! I shall not forget it!"

Sebastian bowed his head and knocked lightly upon the locked door. "My Lord," he called. "This young man should like to spe-"

There was a harsh booming noise followed promptly by a stinging sensation in Sebastian's right lung. He felt hot fluid seeping from the bullet wound and soaking his shirt and waistcoat. Bloody spittle spurt from his open mouth as the words froze on his lips. Double crossed.

Oh, cruel revelations! Surely there was a human _somewhere_ in the world who was capable of honesty! It looked, though, that the Butler would have no such luck running into one that day.

Sebastian rolled his shoulders and turned to his assailant. "You know," he began as he watched the man's face pale, "I am almost positive that my Young Master would have been intrigued enough to have a word with you. And, considering his commiseration for the victims of this crime, there truly was a chance that he would have allowed you to go free. But you have completely ruined any probability of that happening." Reflexively, the young man shot another bullet at the Butler, that time at his heart. But Sebastian was finished playing games. He caught the bullet between his forefinger and thumb, the lead pleasantly burning through his satin glove. He let it drop to the floor. "I must ask you to hold your fire," he said as he advanced towards his prey. "It incites a most dreadful ringing in my ears."

"What..." was all that the young man could utter. He began to back away on his knees, his eyes never once leaving the Butler's face.

Sebastian chuckled. "Where do you intend to go? I can guarantee you that you will not live long enough to reach anyone who would help you."

The young man reverted to pleading, though much more heartfelt than before. "I beg you!" Tears began running down his cheeks. "Let me speak with him! No more tricks! I swear it! I'll do anything. Anything! Please, I just don't want to die. Please, don't kill me, I don't want to die!" He had thrown himself down at the Butler's feet as though worshipping him like a God.

Sebastian shook his head. "You have made your choice. Now it is time for me to make mine. And I choose to follow my Master's orders absolutely."

Before the young man could sit back up, Sebastian had brought down his foot in the centre of his back. His spine immediately fractured, no stronger it had been than a wooden skewer. He flailed momentarily but quickly settled into a crumpled pile of skin and hair and bone and blood. Sebastian leaned over and lifted the man. He put his loose arm around his own strong shoulders, more like he was intoxicated rather than dead. Sebastian was surprised to see that even in Death the young man was striking, perhaps more so that he was without knowledge of his guilt and shame.

He fashioned the man's posture in the same manner as his companions, and he finally thought up a few reasons for his particular placement. Reason one: as it was obviously not an accident, it would be a warning for all those involved. Reason two: it was sinister in its exactitude. Reason three: he still found it to be incredibly funny.

The grim details would no doubt be published in tomorrow's paper, and now that David was paying closer attention to the thing after his recent brush with the London press, he would understand it as a sign that his pursuers could not be so easily impeded. And if he and his Master were to be questioned at any point, which was more than likely seeing as they were both passengers on a train in which three people had been murdered, all that would need to happen is an underhanded monetary payment.

Sebastian smiled, reasonably proud of his work, and left through the window after leaving the closed door unlocked. Hopefully, for her sake, the stewardess comes to check in on the party before the rigor mortis sets in.

* * *

**Yep. I had _way_ too much fun writing about revenge. But, oh well. Hopefully you have fun reading it and make me feel less mad!**

**In the next chapter, the Earl and his Butler arrive in Manchester and run into a familiar face.**


	17. Chapter 17: The Earl, Destination

**Note to the Readers: Whoa! So far, this story has more follows/favourites than my first one had by this point. It also has almost as many views in a little over two months as Bedeviled has had in four! Just thought I'd take a second to say thank you. Humbled once again. :)**

* * *

The Butler returned to the Young Master just as the train was beginning to slow. Ciel looked at him idly as he swung through the window and locked it behind him. After he sat down, Ciel asked him a question.

"Are you going to do anything about that wound?"

Sebastian cocked his head, having completely forgotten about the pain in his lung.

"That man shot you," Ciel continued. "You're bleeding out all over the place. You look terrifying."

Sebastian felt the blood coagulating and growing cold, adhering his clothing to his skin. He looked down and saw the sticky mess creeping through the fibers of his uniform, the flecks of blood on his lower lip and chin.

"Oh, dear," he mused. He kneeled before the Master. "Please excuse my dreadful appearance, my Lord. It is most improper for you to see me in this disarray."

Ciel clicked his tongue. "No time for pleasantries, Sebastian. Get yourself cleaned up. We'll be pulling into the station at any moment."

Always prepared for any situation, the Butler had packed away a spare uniform, as well as a second eye patch. At the request of the Master, he used the remaining splash of black tea to wipe away the gore.

"Do not do that," Ciel had said after he realised that the Butler had meant to use his saliva to cleanse himself. "Only animals do that. It's disgusting."

Sebastian thought of mentioning that humans are also animals but dismissed the idea. He could not help but notice, though, that Ciel stared at his skin while he cleaned. He was on the verge of requesting his privacy but Ciel spoke first.

"I see that the wound has already healed," he said with a bit of detachment. "Where did the bullet go? Or have you already... expelled it somehow?"

"I did not. Until you mentioned it, I had completely forgotten."

"Where did it go then?"

"I would think that it simply pushed itself off to the side," Sebastian said, "at the very bottom of an organ or in the lining. Or maybe it tucked itself into a pocket of fat. I am not sure."

"It must not at all be painful if you had forgotten about it."

Sebastian pulled on a fresh shirt. "Only for a moment did I feel any pain," he said as he pulled the buttons through their fastening slits. "But it is more annoying than it is painful. I would compare it to a childish pinch."

Sebastian finished attiring himself and wrapped the bloodied clothing into a tight bundle. After he carefully hid them beneath their shared belongings, he put to the Young Master his own questions.

"Did you hear the conversation I had with that young man?"

Ciel nodded. "Yes."

"Would you have spoken to him?"

_I am merely a victim, just like you._

Ciel thought. "I am not sure."

_You have no idea the disgusting things I was made to do... I simply cannot bear to think on it._

"I don't think I would have."

_Please, don't kill me, I don't want to die!_

"I cannot have anyone thinking they can win back their freedom by pulling at my heart strings."

___One does what one must in order to survive._

"It's like you told him. He made his choice. Unfortunately for him, it was the wrong one."

Sebastian smiled. "Quite right, sir." Of course, after three years of being in his service the Butler knew well enough when the Young Master was wearing his poker face, but it did not matter. Regardless, he still acted upon his word, which was more than Sebastian could say for the other humans he had the displeasure of serving in the past. As the Master says, if one continues a lie it will eventually become the truth. It's just a matter of you swallowing it all up in the end*****. Sebastian had to applaud his dedication.

"How did you dispose of the bodies?" Ciel asked, perhaps more casually than one ought.

"I sat them all in their compartment," Sebastian answered. Ciel's eyebrows narrowed. "I thought that if I had thrown them overboard that it would lead to an unnecessarily long investigation," he explained. "It would take far too much time for the bodies to be uncovered. And it is safe to assume that for this particular voyage they were not carrying with them proper identification. Once they were found, it would lead to yet another investigation to learn who they really were. It would have been a mess. This way, it cuts one step out of the equation. Have no worries," he added as Ciel still looked dubious, "their execution did not draw anyone's attention."

"I suppose that is all true," Ciel sighed. "And if the police question us, which they of course will, I will inform them of the circumstances and pay their desired compensation."

Sebastian wondered from time to time if it should be concerning that the Master was beginning to think like him. He instead decided that he was flattered. "Those were my thoughts as well."

Ciel tilted his head. "Should it concern me that we are starting to think alike?"

Sebastian closed his eyes and smiled. "Not at all, my Lord." He did spend practically every waking hour by the boy's side. It would be strange if they didn't think similarly.

Ciel looked out the window. "It's to be expected. We do spend an obscene amount of time together. It would be odd if we didn't think the same things from time to time. If anything, you should feel flattered."

The Butler chuckled. "I am continually flattered by your consideration."

"My consideration?" The Master's face soured.

"Yes," said Sebastian. "How else would we have the same ideas if we did not listen to each other?"

Ciel shrugged and kept quiet. It was very unbecoming of a nobleman to be so like-minded with a member of the Downstairs.

"Though I do understand your apprehension at the thought," Sebastian said. "To be so like-minded with a mere member of the Dow-"

"Alright, Sebastian, that's enough!" Ciel snapped. The whole exchange was starting to irritate him and the Butler's obvious amusement was not helping him feel any better.

Outside of the window, a crowded platform came into view as they train stopped in full. Again sharing the same thought, Ciel and Sebastian exited the train as quickly and soundlessly as possible to avoid the calamity that would happen after the discovery of the bodies.

The station was in the midst of rush hour. Briefcases, suitcases, hat boxes and handbags hung from every traveler. Tearful ladies clung to their gone-for-too-long sweethearts while haughty youths glared at them from over the tops of their angst-ridden diaries. Newsies stood scattered throughout the crowd shouting the morning headlines. Ciel made sure to purchase a paper before leaving the station. As he and Sebastian walked out to the street, from somewhere far behind them they heard a woman scream.

Manchester was not quite as populated as London, but it was alive and bustling all the same. The Earl and his Butler were jostled this way and that directly after setting foot on the pavement. It took a moment for them to find a calm bit of space in the mouth of a doorway. Ciel flipped open the paper and began to read fervently.

Sebastian leaned over him. "Looking for something, my Lord?"

Ciel continued scanning the paper. "Yes, I am." After finding the article that he knew would be printed, he held the paper up to Sebastian. "This right here." Sebastian took the paper from him and read the article. It ran thusly:

"_**Stage Prowler Strikes Again!**_

_Following a recent strain of kidnappings in the south, most recently London, another young actor has joined the ranks of the unknown. James McGivern, 14, vanished from the Copperhead Theatre last night in the same mysterious style as the other victims. After it had been reported that Richard Becker, 16, is a relation of Her Majesty, the Queen, Scotland Yard has launched an investigation to recover those who have gone missing. Though leading detective Lord Randall has assured the public that they have very strong lead on the culprit, he has said that he is unable to detail any particulars due to legal restrictions._

_A Warning to All of Theatre's Young Men:_

_Keep your eyes and ears open! Do not allow yourself or your peers to wander the streets unattended until this villain is captured!"_

"So either the theatre master doesn't waste any time or he has trained his protégé well," Sebastian said.

The Young Master sighed and tossed away the paper. "It doesn't much matter now, does it?"

Sebastian shook his head. "I suppose not."

Ciel looked around the crowded streets. "Well, we know where they are," he said. "What we don't know is how to find them."

"Can we not simply ask someone about it?" Sebastian asked.

Ciel glared up at him. "That's not an incriminating question at all. Hello! We were just wondering where one might find a dilapidated building that could also possibly serve as a human art gallery slash brothel! We are not involved in anything illegal, I swear!" He rolled his eyes. "The police would be all over us. And if not them, one of David's 'contacts.' You know better than that, Sebastian."

The Butler did not appreciate the Young Master's sarcasm but he had learned very well how to hide his frustration. "What do you suggest we do then, sir?"

Ciel was about to voice his strategy when an illustrious bakery across the street caught his eye. Its wallpaper, alternating stripes of pastel pinks, sparkled like a diamond in the rough grey of the tough city streets. He mumbled something that even Sebastian couldn't hear before he crossed the road to it, barely looking both ways for oncoming traffic. Sebastian sighed and followed after the boy's impetuous sweet tooth.

The scent of the shoppe was as gorgeous as the look of it, all sugary sweet vanilla and robust Arabian coffee. Ciel took his place in the winding queue, marveling at the prism coloured French macaroons. Had his devouring eye not wandered over to the creamy Napoleons, he may have missed the frayed edges of a vermillion scarf. Ciel looked up quickly and saw the face of the person who wore it: Mister Harrison. He held a white paper bag and was paying the girl behind the counter his due. Ciel grabbed Sebastian's tie and pulled him down to his level so he could whisper, "That's Harrison, the acting coach I told you about."

"How do you want to go about this?" Sebastian whispered back.

"Let's track him. He'll lead us to the new theatre."

"Yes, sir."

Seconds later, Harrison was out the door. And even though the dripping honey glazes were calling out to him to release them from their glass encased prison so that they may find refuge in the safe house of his stomach, Ciel followed after with his Butler at his side.

Harrison had immediately veered off into an alley. Professionally trained in concealing themselves, Ciel and Sebastian knew at exactly what moment to hide behind a wall or rubbish bin to avoid being seen, and how long to wait in said hiding spot before continuing the chase. They followed like that for some odd minutes when very suddenly a police officer came between them and Harrison.

"Good morning, gentlemen," he said without politeness.

Earl and Butler started at the unexpected appearance. "Good morning, officer," said Ciel.

The officer's smile was unkind. "Is there something I can help you find?"

Ciel looked past him cautiously so that he would not lose sight of the target. "No, officer. We were only-"

"Because I couldn't help but notice that you were stalking that man up ahead," the officer said very loudly.

Harrison had turned around after noticing that he was the one being discussed. His eyes widened when they fell upon Ciel and he bolted.

"No!" Ciel cried. He made to run after him but the officer grabbed hold of his arm.

"Oh, no you don't!" scolded the officer. "Now, I don't know what you two are plotting, but-"

Sebastian's hands wrapped themselves around the officer's short neck and expertly squeezed the oxygen out of him. As his face grew violet in hue, his grasp on Ciel weakened and the boy was able to take back his arm. Soon enough he fell to the ground looking like a bruised aubergine.

"Is he dead?" Ciel asked.

"No, only fainted," the Butler said quickly. "But we must hurry." They sprinted off in Harrison's direction.

It took a few twists and turns and more dead ends than they would like to admit, but they eventually found the acting coach. He stood frantically trying at a lock that kept closed a tall wrought iron gate. Funny enough, the bag of pastries remained unspilled. Ciel had to laugh at his obedience.

"Hello, Mister Harrison," he called.

Harrison struggled for a moment more until he accepted that the game was over. He turned the slow pivot of failure. "Hello, Lord Phantomhive."

Ciel was pleased by the man's formality. He walked towards him, the deliberate _click-clack_ of the heels on his boots caustically foreboding. "Running an errand for the theatre master?" he asked.

"Please," Harrison sighed, sounding exhausted, "there is no need to intimidate me further. If it is to prison you mean to take me, I would rather you do so now. I am through running away from my judgment."

Ciel looked back to the Butler to share his confusion. "You seem to have given up rather easily."

Harrison's expression spoke nothing but defeat. "I gave up a long time ago, my Lord."

Ciel leaned his head to the side. "What do you mean?"

Harrison walked away from the gate to lean his back against a building's wall. He ran his fingers, still in their neglected silver glove, through his matching coloured hair. "As cliché as it sounds, it's complicated."

"I am sure it is," said Ciel. "Please enlighten me."

Harrison looked worried. "Since I know that I most likely do not have a choice-"

"No, you do not," Ciel interrupted, as he was apt to do. "Or, rather, you do, technically, but I do not think you would be interested in the other option."

"Right." Harrison nodded. "Er. Well. I'll tell you what I can remember, but not here. Someone might show up to surprise us." His eyes jumped around as he said those words. Ciel and Sebastian nodded in agreement. They had known that there would be spies on the surveillance. The theatre master was well versed in crime after all. "There is a pub across the way." Harrison pointed to an establishment on the other side of the street. "No one will be in there this early. We can have some privacy."

"Sounds lovely," Ciel smiled.

Mister Harrison lead the way with the Butler staying close at his heels, and they walked together into the dirty little pub.

* * *

***This quote was taken directly from Chapter 50 when Ciel explained his reasoning of hiring Snake to Sebastian.**

**In the next chapter, we learn a little about how David became so nuts (or, depending on how you look at it, how he was _always_ nuts) and how the Exhibition came to be.**


End file.
